


Loving is Easy

by rosequartsy



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Atsumu is a good friend and a good brother in this??, F/M, First Relationship, Friends to Lovers, General High school drama, Osamu is romantic low key, Reader Insert, it's about the communication, just an awkward relationship tbh, mentions of depression, possible mentions of suicide ideation, reader gets big sad sometimes, you love to see it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:55:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23985655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosequartsy/pseuds/rosequartsy
Summary: Loving you is the easy part; Osamu has that down pat. But there's much more to being in a relationship than just having feelings. You and Osamu figure that out together
Relationships: Miya Osamu/Reader
Comments: 23
Kudos: 182





	1. So Far Everything's Good

**Author's Note:**

> This first chapter provides a little context into your everyday life, as well as your relationships in school. Next chapter is when things really kick off.  
> Btw; every chapter is named after a song (but not necessarily based off of one). This chapter's title comes from Rex Orange County's Televsion/So Far So Good

Perhaps it really is that you watch too many American teen comedies, but the first day of second year is a cold and indifferent day, with no signs of being special. There is no indie rock number playing as you pick out the components of your uniform, as if there’s really any kind of decision to be made other than what type of socks you’ll wear today. Opening up your window, you catch the cool breeze of the dewy April morning. Tights it is. 

Your morning routine, newly adopted in your first year of high school, is meticulous. In order to ease the anxiety of spending another day in the pristine, elite walls of Inarizaki, you spent the better half of the morning in a hot shower, followed by a skincare regimen to rival that of models. Nevermind that you still had acne marks and pores large enough to call a lake—this brought you peace, a rare commodity for you. 

The peace cracks a little the moment you put on your uniform. You don’t really understand why you thought it would look any different when you put it on this morning: your skirt still rode up in the back and your legs, while smooth looking in the sheer tights, bared a resemblance to sausage links in a way both that was both upsetting and self-deprecatingly hilarious. 

Like you tuck your legs away under your vanity, you tuck away that thought. Daylight is creeping through your window and you have only so much time to amateurly apply your makeup before it starts. 

You go through the motions of creating an appealing visage: evening your skin, lining your eyes, thickening your lashes. Every flick of your wrist covers your face more and more, building back the peace of mind your uniform stole from you. Despite the time it takes, you prefer your mask to the world to have no cracks, thank you. 

The sharp  _ tick! _ of something against your window makes you jump, even after a year of hearing it. The makeup on your vanity rattles and you have to save your mascara from taking a nosedive to the floor. Another rock comes flying to your window, and the sound is much heavier. You glance over, making sure there’s no cracks forming in the glass. 

“Dumb, stupid idiot,” you hiss under your breath, shoving everything into a drawer. The alarm clock next to your bed confirms your suspicion—they’re early, but for a reason you can’t fathom.

There’s no use in making them wait. You slip on your shoes and rummage through the kitchen for something you can shove in the pocket of your blazer. You whisper a goodbye to no one in particular and head out the door. 

“Took ya long enough,” you hear someone tell you. 

“Excuse me? You’re the one who-” you round the side of your house where the twins are waiting for you. They’re on the sidewalk that faces your window, and if you had yelled at Atsumu to  _ not _ break your window earlier, then you would have seen their little silver and gold heads from your room. 

“What-“ you try to comprehend it. You walk up to Atsumu, his head now donning a bright yellow color that resembles piss. “What the fuck did you do?” 

“Dialed my looks from a 10 to an 11,” he replied, running a hand through it. It looked shiny and glossy and brand new, and you wondered how long he’d been planning this. 

“How much money did you spend on that?”

“It actually wasn’t too bad-”

“Get a refund.”

Atsumu scoffs and starts walking, and his brother rolls his eyes. When you said you noticed gold and silver, you meant that Osamu’s head was just that: there was a metallic sheen to his tresses, like it was woven with starlight. It accentuated the freshly trimmed undercut, a tiny reminder of the dark shade it used to be. You stood behind him, unable to tear your eyes away from it. 

“-ya doin’ hidin back there?” Osamu is addressing you now, looking over his shoulder. Dark eyes scrutinize your face, waiting for your answer, but judging by both of their lopsided smirks, they knew you hadn’t been listening. 

“Hm?” you say, admitting defeat.

“See somethin ya like?” Atsumu teases. He’s sliding up to you, wrapping an arm over your shoulder to pull you into his side. You shove him rather roughly and you can hear Osamu snort under his hand. As if he doesn’t openly laugh at his brother on the daily. 

“I know I tell ya to piss off a lot, but this wasn’t what I meant.”

“I-” Atsumu starts, but the large cackle Osamu gave at your (half assed) joke silenced everything. 

“Damn, I wish I coulda said that first.” 

“The game is keep up, not catch up.” 

Whatever was running through your head while you blatantly started at the back of Osamu’s head flutters when he settles his laughter with a content sigh. Atsumu is still huffing behind you two, and you have a sliver of hope that second year might be looking up.

*****

“Ah, (name), you always wear your uniform so much cooler than me!”

To say you have approximately three friends at Inarizaki would be blowing things out of proportion, but as it stands, there are hardly more than three you speak to regularly. 

Luckily for you, all that “applying yourself” in your first year bumped you up to class 4, where you were currently avoiding eye contact with your new classmates. Hanoka Okubo’s—one of the three friends you mentioned—outburst didn’t make it any easier. 

“I’m not wearing it in any special way.” That isn’t necessarily true; you’ve always insisted on tucking your sweater into your skirt, and cuffing the long sleeve of your blazer. You also detested the huge bunched up socks a decent population of the girls wore, including your second of three friends, Mayumi Ichida. 

Mayumi swung said sock covered legs over her desk. She was the cutest thing you’d ever seen, being barely above five feet and lithe like the cheerleader she was. Loved by all, and strangely enough, befriended by you, she was an absolute doll. 

“Yeah, but you always look different.” she must have noticed the way your face fell, because she waved her hands erratically. “No no! Not in a bad way! Ahh!”

“Yumi,” you say lowly, taking your seat to avoid garnering any more glances. “People are looking at us.”

“She holds pom poms for a living, I don’t know what you’re expecting.” 

In front of you, Yuto Kosaku unceremoniously drops his bag, announcing his arrival. Mayumi tries to reach out and nudge him with her foot, but her tiny body can’t make the stretch. 

“I’m delightful!” she tells him, her cheeks puffed in annoyance. 

“Never said you weren’t,” he reminds her, sending back a sarcastic smirk. 

Kosaku’s eyes caught yours, and his expression softened into a real smile. You had caught sight of him earlier when you arrived at the gym with the twins (the reason they had been so early), but you never said anything. You hardly knew him, but he was, somehow, the last of your three friends in class 4. 

“Kosaku, are you staying on the volleyball team this year?” 

“What kinda question is that, Okubo? Course I am.”

“It’s just that you were benched all the time last year,” she says, a lilt in her voice. 

You swat in her general direction, too far away for a direct hit. “Don’t be so rude.”

“What, it’s true?”

“I played at Nationals, where it counts,” he grumbled back.

“Yeah, as a pinch server.”

“Playing is playing, alright? God,” he cursed at her incessant bickering. You tried hard to bite down the smile on your lips, but to no avail. Kosaku caught the look, raising his brows at the idea that he could pull a look like that from you. Quiet, reserved you, with your head in the clouds and a solemn look when no one was watching. 

“What position do you play again?” Your sudden interest made his head whip around.

“Spiker.”

“The most exciting position! We have to learn special chants for all the spikers so we can include their names.” Mayumi says expertly. 

“Do you learn the names of the guys that don’t play?”

“Okubo,” You and Kosaku say in warning. Hanoka puts her hand up in mock surrender just as the bell rings for class.

Everyone finally settles into their seats, but Kosaku faces you. You freeze, trying not to look at his face. 

“You should come to one of our games, you know.”

“Uh,” you stutter, feeling quite on the spot. Something halts in your chest and you think it might be your heart. “I don’t really-”

“The twins would probably really appreciate it.” You look up to see him giving you a half smile. “Besides, as second years we’ll all be on the court more. It’d be fun.”

Fun isn’t something you do, and Kosaku knows this. Perhaps he’s trying to coax you out of your shell, but that surely isn’t his job.

But you don’t want to outright say no, even if every bone in your body is telling you to. “Maybe,” you say, shrugging to feign nonchalance, even though you’re avoiding looking at him. 

“Cool,” he whispers, then turns. You can see his rigid shoulders keep that posture for a bit, and you feel your heartbeat thud erratically. From her spot across the aisle from you, Hanoka catches your eye. 

_ “What was that? _ ” she mouths big and obviously, and you slump into your seat, attempting to silence your rapidly beating heart. 

*****

Kosaku doesn’t eat lunch with you all in the classroom, and it’s the perfect opportunity for Hanoka to climb over his desk and look you in the eyes. 

“What did Kosaku tell you before class?”

“Huh?” Mayumi quite literally stumbles upon this conversation. She set down her vending machine spoils (to which there were a lot) and slid a box of strawberry milk towards you. 

You open your mouth in questioning, but she stops you with a wagging finger. “You didn’t bring any lunch today, and I’m not letting you skip!”

“I wasn’t going to skip, so if Hanoka would like to keep this  _ short _ .”

“It’s not up to me!” Hanoka reminds you, propping her chin in her hands. She leans forward to interrogate you further. “He asked you something, didn’t he!”

Mayumi gasps, as if she’s put the pieces together. “Oh my gosh, did he confess?”

“You’re both stupid if you think  _ Kosaku _ , who’s on the literally  _ famous _ volleyball team would confess to me,” you say with the utmost seriousness. 

“But he totally likes you!” Mayumi bounces excitedly, despite a pout on her lips. 

“He does not.”

“(Name), the whole self pity thing is only cute for so long,” she sighs dramatically, and you rear your head back. You wouldn’t call having the constant urge to jump off the roof “self pity,” but you certainly didn’t want to have that conversation on top of the one you were already having. 

So you give Mayumi a withering glare that makes her step back. You skirted out of your seat, saying “I’m getting food,” in a low grumble. Mayumi did not follow, sitting in your seat and chewing dejectedly instead. 

Hanako wasn’t finished with you, though. She maneuvered to the door and stepped through it with you.

“You’re totally avoiding the question.”

“I literally never got to answer,” you pointed out. “It’s not even a big deal.”

“Okay, so what is it?”

It takes a lot longer to get to the cafeteria now that you’re in the second year hall. You’re passing by the lower level classes on your way down, and familiar faces greet you. You share no particular comradery with these people—they did their absolute best to stay away from your sour, disinterested countenance, and that was fine by you. (It wasn’t, not really, not when you cried yourself to sleep during the first few weeks of class. But you were above the crying now, even if the thoughts occasionally plagued you.)

“He just invited me to a game, that’s all.”

“Um, hello?” Hanoka grabs your arm, and you wrench yourself out of the surprise contact. She sighs, then verbally says, “Wait.”

Your nerves still feel fried where she touched you. Crossing your arms, you willed the feeling to disappear, but you stood still and faced her. “It’s not a big deal.”

“You’re rather oblivious, you know that?”

“Huh?” 

She pinches the bridge of her nose, as if you’re a lost cause. “When has Kosaku ever asked you to do anything?”

“Kosaku doesn’t talk to me outside of the group.”

“So why would he tell  _ you _ specifically that you should go to a game?”

It’s like you’ve been punched in the gut and can’t retain your breath. That constricting feeling from before snakes across your chest. No, this isn’t true, you can’t get your hopes up for nothing. 

“He said the twins would appreciate it, or something like that.”

“I’m sure he did,” she snorts. “You know how rumors about you and the twins go around.”

You grimaced at the reminder. But then your mind wandered to the twins, and how you hadn’t seen them play since Inter-Middle. Maybe they  _ would _ appreciate you going to a game; not that they’d ever tell you that.

“(Name!)” Hanoka snaps her fingers, wrestling your thoughts back down to earth. “Focus!”

“Hanoka, it didn’t even tell him I’d go, I just said maybe.”

“Maybe?? That’s a lot more commitment than a no.”

“Why are we even talking about this like it’s a problem?”

“Because,” she starts,and she’s pacing in front of you. “Because what if Kosaku... _ likes you?” _

Your heart plummeted.  _ She said it out loud _ you thought.  _ Somehow it feels more like the truth. _

“He doesn’t.”

“And if he does? Do you like him?”

“He’s my friend,” you say with finality. “I like having him around, but I wouldn’t accept his feelings,  _ if _ he had them for me.”

“Well do you like someone else?”

The question makes your blood pressure spike. It feels like your blood is boiling under your face and you can’t shake the uncomfortable feeling, no matter how much you place your cold palms to your cheeks. 

“Why are you asking me that?”

Hanoka must like the reaction you’re making because she giggles. “Aw, you have to, with that look!”

“I don’t! You just caught me off guard!”

“You can tell me, you know. I promise I won’t tell a soul.”

“There’s no one,” you say briefly. “Not really.”

Hanoka still looks smug, despite not getting her answer. She looks at something in the doorway of the classroom, and you try to sneak a peek, but she leads you away just as quickly. 

“C’mon,” she says with a suspicious spring in her step. “Let’s make sure you eat. God knows you don’t take care of yourself.”

“Well then God must be a woman named Hanoka.”

Hanoka trips on a shallow step and you laugh at the blush creeping across her face. “I swear, “ she grunts with fleeting anger. “You’re sweeter than Mayumi. You just hate showing it.”

“No one ever gave me the chance.”

She sighs, knowing you’re right. “One day, you’ll get what you deserve.” The way she says it is wistful and longing, completely unlike her. But her smile is soft and apologetic when she turns to you. “I just doubt it’ll ever come out of here.”

“I mean, I have you guys, don’t I?”

“WAH! SO SMOOTH (NAME!)”

“Nevermind.”

*****

Club application forms litter your desk as you sort through them all. You’re still in one from last year, but you’re thinking about Kosaku and his possible attempt to get you to do something other than study. And even then, that probably wasn’t his endgame, but you were trying so hard to erase the thought of him liking you. 

Kosaku was nice, and he was handsome, in a similar vein to the other athletes. He had a hard, cold face, like the other boys on the volleyball team, but he usually loosened up with a smile. He wasn’t bad on the court, from what you’d heard from the twins. And in any case, making it onto the Inarizaki volleyball team was no small feat in and of itself. 

You kept thinking about this as you made your way to the gym. There was still daylight, even after your club and some quick studying. The squeak of volleyball shoes was no longer present, and a couple boys trickled out of the gym. They nodded in your direction, some of them familiar and others new. 

_ Try outs _ you remembered, seeing as a couple wide eyed freshmen left the gym with grimaces. You couldn’t quite blame them—their old captain was a tall and intimidating third year you’d never rid your fear of. Surely he couldn’t hate you for waiting on the twins during practice, but you could imagine it got on his nerves. Whoever took  _ his _ place was probably just as nerve wrecking. 

You pulled down the hem of your skirt subconsciously. The doors stayed closed for a while, and in your anxious and worked up state, you began to get impatient. 

Then the metal doors slid back, and Kosaku appeared. He seemed surprised at your presence, but then it transformed into a wide grin. 

“Oh, hey,” he said, bounding down the stairs to greet you. “The guys are putting some stuff away, they’ll be out soon.”

“Okay,” you replied. The subsequent silence was tense with something left unsaid, but you had no idea how to bring that up. Luckily Kosaku wasn’t a social reject and started it for you. 

“We have Inter-High coming up in a few weeks,” he said, sitting down on the steps. He looked up at you, having to squint to keep the sun out of his eyes. You took mercy on him and sat beside him, catching him off guard yet again. 

“I didn’t realize the season started up so soon,” you commented, having a decent idea of what he was talking about. “Will that be enough time for practice? I mean, you guys have a new starting order with the third years gone.”

He blinked. “Huh. You know more than I thought you would.”

This earns him a deadpan look. “I know  _ some _ things.”

“Well, Kita-san is getting it all figured out soon, with Aran-san’s help.”

“Aran-senpai is the vice captain?” You perked up. 

“Yeah,” Kosaku says, a little confusion lacing his tone. “You know him?”

“Yeah, he went to junior high with me and the twins.”

At the mention of them, Kosaku turns his head. “Hm,” he says with a small voice. “Small world.”

There’s something oddly tense on his voice, and it fills you with alarm. You’re not sure if you’re supposed to comment on it or not, but now the air is thick and your mind swirls with the thoughts you’ve been trying to shove aside all day. 

_ Is he talking to me because he wants to? Why is he waiting here with me? Why did he just get angry all of a sudden? _

As if the thoughts on your face are audible, Kosaku turns to you. You jump, feeling goosebumps prickle on your arm. 

“(Name),”

“Kosaku, do you like me?”

His eyes widen, both at your outburst and the way you slap your hands over your mouth afterwards. It feels like someone’s dumped ice down your back and the overwhelming feeling of panic blooms in your chest, making it hard to breathe. 

“I don’t know why I said that,” you admit shakily, trying to calm yourself. “Literally forget it, I’m so sorry-”

“Can I be honest?”

Your fingers curl into fists on your legs, but you nod. Kosaku is giving you his undivided attention, and then he slumps, propping his elbows on the step behind him. His gaze rests over the warm light covering campus, and you finally look at him. 

He doesn’t look hurt, not really. He’s starting to speak with a small smile that leans left. “I know those rumors about you and the twins aren’t real. I know they’re your friends, and they always have been. But I thought if I could get you to do things without them, they might stop.”

Your chest compresses, and a rush of air escapes your nose. All you can do is hum in response, and Kosaku looks at you in his peripheral vision. 

“The twins talk about it all the time, you know. It’s mostly the girls who idolize them that bring it up, so they’re bound to hear the scraps from last year.”

“Yeah,” you say hollowly, not ready to bring this trauma back up in the slightest. “So I’ve heard.”

Kosaku studies your posture for a moment before changing the subject back. “I do like you, (name), but just as a friend.”

“I shoulda known that,” you laugh, despite the weird disappointment in your chest. Isn’t that what you wanted in the first place? You’d kept the status quo, everything was good; so why did you feel so empty?

“It’s okay. I guess I see where you were comin’ from.” 

“God, this is the worst confession I’ve ever heard.”

All thoughts withered in your mind the second Atsumu’s whiny voice pierces the air. His penchant for making everything about him was generally unwelcome, but just for today you’d let him steal an awkward moment. 

Well, not entirely. “Clearly you can’t hear cause no ones’ confessing.”

Atsumu jumps down the stairs to meet both of you. “Makes sense. Who would confess to you?”

“Hm, rich coming from a boy who looks like he has a banana glued to his head.”

Kosaku snorts in his hand because he doesn’t have openly-mocking-Atsumu rights. He still gets a nasty golden eyed glare for his efforts. “Not a word outta you, Kosaku!”

“Sorry, it’s just, when she’s right, she’s right.”

“We leave you alone for ten seconds and you’re already pickin’ fights, you immature asshole.” You crane your neck back to catch sight of Osamu and Suna Rintarou taking their sweet time descending the stairs. In the oncoming golden hours light you swear the silver in Osamu’s hair sparkles, but it’s probably just sweat from practice. 

“I left way longer than ten seconds ago you lazy shit, but go off.”

Osamu stops on the step right before yours, and wordlessly holds out his hand. It takes you a good moment to understand that he’s doing it for you. 

“Oh!” You say, letting him help pull you up. When your hand slips into his you can feel how calloused it is, how strong. You use your other hand to make sure your skirt is pulled down, because Kosaku is still beside you and could get an excellent view up your skirt if he so desired. 

“Why thank you,” you smile at him, and he mutters “no problem” before catching up with his brother. You take a second to wave goodbye to Kosaku, who is still waiting patiently on his step. 

“How come we’re not waiting for Aran-senpai?” You ask after walking with the twins for a while. They’re walking side by side and cutting you off again, so you’re staring at the back of their heads for the second time today. You don’t like the feeling it gives you, like you’re trying to catch up with them. It wasn’t like you ever could, anyways. Those two were on the fast track to stardom with their talents. You were nowhere close. 

Atsumu’s reply breaks you from your thoughts. “He’s got extra duties with Kita-san now that he’s vice captain.”

“Oh, right, I forgot.”

“Eh?” Atsumu waits so he can be by your side when you catch up. “Who told you about it in the first place?”

“Kosaku, obviously.”

There’s a glance shared between the brothers, and Atsumu grins when Osamu looks away. “So that’s what you two were talking about.”

“Why are you saying it like that?”

“Because he’s an idiot who likes to make a big deal out of nothing,” Osamu chimes in. You can’t decide whether or not there’s an edge to his voice. Even though you’ve known him for several years, he’s still the harder of the two to decipher. You didn’t mind it, necessarily, but sometimes you wondered what he was thinking underneath that placid countenance. 

You frowned, trying to remember when you started using such advanced words to describe Osamu’s face. 

“Well, I did think (Name) blurting “ _ Kosaku do you like me”  _ was a little less than friendly.”

“It was a genuine question!” You explode, poking Atsumu in his chest. “And what were you doing eavesdropping anyways, creep?”

“You had a private conversation in a public location. It’s not my fault I was trying to give you space.”

“Whatever, Ratsumu.”

“Stop using that god awful name!” Like always, his voice pitches up just a hair. You can’t suppress the smile it earns. 

“You’re just upset ‘cause it's clever.”

“It’s not.”

“Oh, it is,” Osamu decides, speaking up for the first time in a while. At some point he slowed down, the three of you walking in a perfect line with you in the middle. “Best fuckin thing I’ve ever heard.”

A proud smile inches across your face. The twins bicker over you, but unlike last year's first day, you don’t feel tears prick into your eyes. The slowly sinking sun washes this moment in a warm, reticent haze, and you quite like it. It had you still holding on to the idea that this year, things would change. 

But you didn’t want to jinx it. You put your head back in the present, making sure to bid the twins a proper goodbye when they diverged to their neighborhood. Osamu’s gaze lingers longer than usual, and you watch in amusement as Atsumu yanks him by the collar. You smile, putting in your headphones for the rest of the walk home, having no concerning thoughts in your head. 

Yeah; so far everything’s good. 


	2. First Love/ Late Spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May in Hyogo is always gorgeous, perfect. Years later, May is less gorgeous than it is isolating. Osamu tries to fix that

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a couple mentions of drowning, just a warning  
> The title of this one comes from Mitski's First Love/ Late Spring, I highly suggest listening

Uneventful is peaceful, you tell yourself, as the days stretch into weeks and everything is routine. You wake up, go to school, wait for the twins outside the gym, go home; rinse, repeat for the next few weeks until it all comes grinding to a halt. 

Back to back holidays provide an impromptu long weekend. Cool breezes break into drier heat in Hyogo as May comes with full force. Outside kids are running around while you attempt to drown out their screams from the discomfort of your home. 

It wasn’t always like this, you think as curl into the couch to find a comfortable position. May in Hyogo is always gorgeous, perfect. The trees are at their peak foliage and picnics underneath them were frequent. This was back in the good old days of being seven and having no intrusive thoughts to corrupt the majesty of breaks. 

You used to spend this time outside, with the twins of all people. Your mother, a teacher with responsibilities even during this time, would drop you off at the Miya household. Despite their mother being an intelligent, kind woman who was Wonder Woman in both your child and now teenaged eyes, there was only so much she could handle having  _ twin boys _ and then dealing with you. 

And so to the pool it was, where lifeguards were as equally responsible for you as she was. It wasn’t too long ago that you’d stopped going, and it hadn’t been for lack of ability. You just stopped feeling comfortable going.

It had happened in an instant, like all bad things. One moment you were happily swimming out to the deeper end, waiting for the twins to apply sunscreen. They always slapped it on with vigor and probably a healthy amount of brotherly malice, because it sounded like it stung. You were gliding on your back now, staring up at the mirrored perfect blue of the sky, and you just...sunk. 

Next thing you know, you’re underwater telling yourself to just  _ exhale _ , just let it all go. Take a deep breath of chlorine and piss water and just sink even further. Your jaw tightened subconsciously, afraid you might actually do it. Or maybe you were simply willing. 

The twins came to your rescue. They hadn’t known that—and at the time neither did you—but you think about Osamu’s outstretched hand and his eyes, unblinking under the water. He was patient, and you took his hand, breaking the surface and whatever strange thoughts you had in your head. 

Years later, May is less gorgeous than it is isolating. Your mother and father are at work and everyone you know is too far and cares too little to see you. The closest friends are the Miya twins, but they are at volleyball practice.

You think about this a lot. You’re thinking about this and everything else as you’re laying down in your house, dissociated and mindnumbingly bored when you hear the doorbell. Banging follows, along with someone saying “Are you really going to ignore the one person trying to hang out with you?” 

Immediately you shuffle towards the door, unable to actually smile at the antics. You’re certain it’s Osamu—while he has a reputation for being more polite, it’s really just that he keeps his mouth shut. Once it’s open, it’s pretty much a mixed bag. 

Plus, you know his voice. Atsumu always has this mischievous lilt that makes girls swoon while Osamu’s voice is deeper and more serious and also makes girls swoon. 

You roll your eyes at the thought. You most definitely don’t want to swoon right now, especially as the banging continues. 

The door swings open to reveal the grey haired twin, looking quite pissed off at making him wait. It’s been several weeks of them insisting to keep the color, and the metallic glimmer has faded for both of them. Osamu’s is still nicer, having faded into an almost dirty silver. 

You're so lost in thinking about his hair that you don’t realize he’s just been standing in the doorway for about a minute. He gives your appearance a once over and his expression goes neutral once again.

“You look like shit.”

You could be inside, daydreaming a much nicer conversation with him instead of having this one. You consider slamming the door closed, but instead you sigh. “Don’t you have literally anyone else to be an asshole to?”

“Practice is over and Atsumu’s on a date with his person of the week so, no.”

You want to laugh, because it’s funny to see Osamu inadvertently say he misses his brother. But there’s something squeezing your heart that only produces a scoff. Osamu raises a brow, but instead of commenting on it he says “Are you letting me in?”

“Maybe I won’t,” you say, trying to keep a teasing air. You’re actually half serious about making him go home. 

He hums, then produces something from his jacket pocket. It’s a set of keys, marked with the number 4. “I had an idea.”

Now you’re intrigued. You step aside and let him enter, but he doesn’t go far. He sits on the step just behind the entryway, and you move to do the same. 

“You remember how we used to go to the municipal pool during break?”

You scrunch your eyebrows, looking at him with a strange expression. How on  _ earth  _ could he have been thinking of the same memory? What kind of soulmate shit was that?

“Yeah,” you say slowly, calculating what you’re going to say next. You’re still at a loss for words. “Why?”

“Well I know you hate crowds,”

“That was one time,”

“And I also know you hate public pools so,” he swings the keys around in his finger. “I got the keys to the school’s practice pool.”

You looked at the tiny silver keys around his finger, then back to his face. He was donning the smile that meant he was up to no good, one generally reserved for Atsumu. He was serious though, you could tell. 

“How did you even come by those? Were they just laying around?”

“I have my ways,” he replies cryptically. “This is a timed offer, so I’ll need an answer now.”

“Now?” You screech, feeling pressured. This had to be some prank—why would Osamu come all the way to your house  _ by himself _ to break into Inarizaki’s pool? 

“Why didn’t you text me and ask earlier?”

“I’d have to come all the way here and get you anyways.”

“I can get to school by myself.”

“Sure you can.” 

“ _ Osamu,” _ you say seriously, hands on your hips and looking him dead in the eye. All teasing went out the window and he sighed, standing up. 

“You can say no.” And you hear a palpable disappointment in those words that makes your gut twist. It’s hard to deny him when he’s presented you with such a brilliant plan; one worthy of a teen romance, you dare to think.

He’s looking out for you. Maybe he’s bored and wants to do something hairbrained and reckless, like the good old days.

But the Miya twins aren’t nostalgic, not in the way you are. Growing up with them, you were aware of their severe allergies to sentimentality. They never thought with retrospect or hindsight, preferring to barrel into a moment headfirst with each other. They never took the time to consider emotions, unless it affected them. 

You were different. You were exhaustingly romantic and analytical, to the point where Atsumu and Osamu had no choice but to bully you back into reality. You thought—thought you knew for a fact—their feelings for you weren’t as strong as your own for them.

You started changing. Getting more and more distant and lost in daydreams. Maybe they  _ did _ notice, and maybe this was like Osamu’s hand pulling you out of the water all those years ago, during a May just like this. 

“I’ll go.”

*****

It hadn’t occurred to you while you were getting ready, nor on the train ride to school that what you were doing might be a punishable offense. 

Osamu has seemingly lost his tongue, because he’s not speaking to you as you make the trek to Inarizaki. There’s a smattering of clubs still on school grounds, such as the track and field team who runs in circles around the outdoor track. The boys are in nothing but tiny race shorts and you snort seeing such big boys in bright red. 

“I never realized their shorts were so short,” you laugh, and then look at your companion. “Is that how you guys’ uniforms look?”

He spares a glance over you, then snorts. “I’d quit if they were.”

“I donno, I think I’d actually go to a game if they looked like that.”

He doesn’t say anything after that. The harsh afternoon heat makes you sweat almost everywhere, and when you see the gym marked 4, you’re glad for the reprieve. 

“Wait,” you say, peeking through the doors on your tiptoes. “Is it empty?”

“Why would I bring you here during practice? So you could stare at more legs?”

“Ha ha,” you reply. “No.”

“Since when did you get so horny?”

“I am not!”

“Sure,” he punctuates with the click of the lock. The door swings open to a moist and comfortable coolness. “After you.”

You smile at him in kind. It’s dark and damp with the lights off, and the surrounding floor has been mopped dry. Your eyes dart to the corners of the room, sweeping for cameras, but you find none. 

“Are you sure this is okay?”

There’s a loud noise as the skylight coverings retract. Sunlight floods in and bounces off the water, making those translucent waves appear on the walls. It’s your own pristine oasis. 

You turn to smile at Osamu when he reappears, but then you blanch. 

He’s in swim trunks,  _ obviously,  _ as this is a  _ pool _ and he asked you to come here. Yet somehow you didn’t expect all of this; he has toned legs from years of conditioning, and oh shit, oh  _ fuck  _ he’s dropping his bag to grip the edge of his shirt. 

“What are you doing?” You blurt in a panic, certain your heartbeat is echoing off the walls because it’s pounding in your skull. 

He looks at you with nothing more than confusion. “I’m getting in the water?”

“You’re just going to,” you swallow, begging yourself to say the words because they’re just  _ words _ , this shouldn’t be that hard. “You’re just going to do that out here?”

“You mean take my shirt off.”

And there’s the taunting curve to his lips you knew was coming. He’s not even reserved as he lifts the garment over his head and stuffs it into his bag. 

You immediately avert your eyes and he gives a full laugh. “You were just staring at dudes legs a second ago.”

“I was  _ joking.” _

He hums, walking the length of the pool. They hold competitions here, so the pool is Olympic sized, whatever that means. All you know is that it’s significantly deeper than the municipal pool, going to about 9 feet. It’s much taller than you, or Osamu. The thought of having water completely cover you like that sends a fear running down your spine. You’d drown in an instant. 

You stare at the unforgiving water, thinking about that day. Bright sunshine, kids screaming, and then suddenly a  _ whoosh _ and then perfect blue. Nothing would have happened then; there was a lifeguard on duty, and the Miya’s mom was first aid certified. People were everywhere, people much taller than five feet. The twins would have pulled you up. Everything would have been fine. 

But  _ here— _ you could die here, and no one but Osamu would know a thing. 

“Hey.” His voice is clear and very, very close. You let out an involuntary gasp and clutch your chest when he materializes beside you. His brows are pinched downward. You feel infinitesimal in his grey gaze. 

“Sorry, I was just,”  _ thinking about drowning.  _ “Thinking.” 

“About what?” He asks it like he knows something you don’t. Which is impossible, because you’re the only person who knows about this. This sinking, drowning feel that sucks you in even though you’re on dry land. 

But when you look at him,  _ really _ look at him, you can see something akin to suffering in the furrow of his brow. 

His hands rest on the top of your shoulders, and for once you’re not wanting to pull away from the touch. His hands are firm, but not squeezing. Just right. 

The thought has you spinning, but then you actually  _ are;  _ your world turns and you’re falling headfirst into the water. 

The splash stings on impact, but the warm water is inviting. After righting yourself, it becomes warm and comfortable. When you open your eyes there’s the flourish of bubbles right next to you as Osamu plunges in. 

His hair floats in a grey halo around his head as he swims toward you, but you’re backing up just as fast. You’re good at swimming; you’ve been better than him after all those years. You swim towards the shallow end and plant your feet on the ground, breaking the surface for air. 

Your sopping wet clothes are stuck to your exposed skin, and it feels disgusting peeling it off. Osamu laughs as you try to stick your hands back into your shirt. 

“Stop laughing, asshole!” You say, splashing him with water as he gets closer. He still eases through chest-high water as you try to back up, but you inevitably meet a wall. 

“Let me help you,” he smirks, his hand meeting the billowing fabric of your top. “It’s the least I can do.”

There’s nowhere to escape him but down. You plunge your head underwater to alleviate the raw embarrassment of it all. You can’t hear his laughter underwater either. 

When you resurface he’s still waiting for you. You fling your ruined shorts over the wall and wince at the absolutely disgusting noise it makes on impact with the floor. There’s a lewd joke to be made in there, but you can’t even breathe with Osamu lifting the hem of your shirt over your head. His fingertips brush against wet skin and it feels horrible, mostly because you want to lean into it and have his fingers on your skin for the rest of your life. 

He doesn’t notice that you’re staring at him with doe eyes, shrinking even further back against the wall. He smiles genially, brushing a strand of wet hair from your forehead. Your heart feels like it’s going to collapse at how tender this six foot volleyball meathead is being. 

“I’ll put these outside, maybe they’ll dry.” You nod minutely and watch in awe as he pulls himself out of the pool with his upper arm strength alone. You hear his footsteps pad away and you sigh, submerging yourself yet again. 

It’s all so foreign—Osamu’s tenderness, this plan,  _ everything _ is so uncertain. You can’t understand why he’s doing all this, why he’s toying with your heart so callously. It’s quite cruel, you think, sitting on the floor of the pool with your arms crossed. Criminal, really. 

You stay under the water for quite some time. You do miss swimming; you’d never been good at laps or competitions, but the sensation of gliding through water, being surrounded by warmth and surrendering control; it felt  _ good _ . You wished you hadn’t turned this hobby into something so dreadful. 

You broke the surface again and you saw Osamu sitting at the edge with his legs in the water. His eyes drifted over you, watching as you swam smoothly under the surface up to his side. 

The way you looked up at him, your head cradled by your crossed forearms, face glistening with water; god you were angelic. Sweet and kind and ethereal with a far off expression, like you weren’t made for this world. Like you were borrowed from the heavens. 

“This was fun,” you said suddenly, and your voice echoed in the empty room. 

“You say that like we’re not still here.” 

“Considering the state of my clothes we’ll probably be here awhile.” He looks only slightly guilty about it. “Are they ever going to dry?”

He thinks of how much he had to wring them out. Even in this heat it would take more than an hour. “It depends. Do you want to leave already?”

“Why do you sound like you have something else planned?” 

“I don’t. Take all the time you want.”

You narrow your eyes at him. Something’s definitely on his mind. He keeps looking towards the bleachers like there’s something written on them. 

“Osamu?” He hums, finally tearing his eyes away from middle distance. “Why’d you bring me here?”

And then they’re gone again. He’s not looking at anything; he’s in his own head. Thinking, overthinking, running it by himself before he opens his mouth. You know the process very well. 

“I told you—“

“Tell me the truth.”

He’s stunned by your bluntness.  _ Serves him right.  _

It wears off pretty quickly, fading into a type of smile you’ve never seen on him. It’s bashful and unsure, and he’s trying to hide it from you, but you swim to his other side. 

He scratches the back of his head. “You’re somthin’ else, ya know that?”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“I’m gettin to it,” he huffs, but it’s more like a steadying breath. “I knew you’d be sitting at home, alone, and I know you hate coming to practices because you feel like Kita will hate you.”

“He does hate me.”

“He doesn’t even know you, and if he did, he wouldn’t care.” This is Osamu’s usual deadpan voice, but it’s paired with a look you don’t recognize. He continues. 

“Either way, I know you hate public pools cause you hate people looking at you. So I thought about a substitute and this came to mind.”

“What, breaking into school?”

“We have keys, (name).”

“Why are we alone then?”

It’s not as if he didn’t realize that. He must have, because when you brought it up something flared on his cheeks. His eyes are downcast and he’s sucking in a breath, that much is evident from how his bare chest puffs out and  _ wow _ you really didn’t notice how water dripped off his chest before. 

You tear your eyes away when he starts speaking. “Because I have something to tell you.”

“You had to tell me here?”

“I didn’t have to, but I wanted to.”

“Oh my god,” you start, feigning a look of horror. “Are you going to kill me?”

The withering look on his face makes you laugh so hard your stomach almost cramps. You miss how the look softens into fondness, because he schools the expression once you’re looking at him again. 

“If I was going to kill you it’d be done.”

“You’d give me a quick death? That’s sweet.”

He rolls his eyes, giving an exasperated laugh. “You’re unbelievable. That’s not,” another breath, shakier this time. “That’s not why I planned this.” 

So this  _ was _ a plan. Clearly it couldn’t be last minute if he obtained keys, but this had been on his mind for a while. How long had he wanted to do this? And what exactly—

“I know you hate it when things are different,” he starts, quickly, breathlessly, like he’ll lose his nerve. “And I didn’t want to make things worse but, well. I like you. A lot.” 

The arm holding you above water slips, and you fall back into water with all the grace of a beached whale. The sting of water reminds you that this, Osamu  _ confessing, _ is real. 

And you just about drowned in front of him. 

You clambour back up only to have him reach out for you. You look up and see him giving you a half smile, and you take his hand. You sit next to him, your feet making ripples against the water as you idly move them back and forth.

“I didn’t think I was that bad,” he rubs the back of his neck, keeping his eyes on the water.

“It’s not you! I’m just,” you can’t think of the word. Something is taking root in your chest that makes it hard to breathe, but in a pleasant way. “I  _ really _ did not expect that.”

He hums. Then he turns to face you. His hair is flat against his face and he has an endearing little smile that is so nervous it melts your heart. He looks like the little boy you took your hand in the pool in May. 

“You don’t have to say anything right now, I know it might be a lot.”

You don’t know how to respond. Your brain is racing to keep up, and every time you think you have the answer, the nerve to do so dies, and your head is just  _ screaming,  _ and—

And so you don’t think. You don’t use your head and you follow your body as you place a quick peck on his cheek. 

He stiffens when you look at him. You take a breath. “I’m glad you considered my feelings, but you’re an idiot,” you laugh, mostly to push the next set of words from your lips. “‘Cause I like you too.” 

The dopiest, most ecstatic grin you’ve ever seen curves into his face. He bites down on his lip to keep it from spreading any further, but the damage is done; you’re laughing at him. And when he tumbles head first into the water like you’ve knocked him out, you laugh even harder.

As it turns out, exhaling underwater is actually a very fun thing to do when you’re laughing at the boy who brings you so much happiness, you could drown in it. 

*****

There are several drawbacks to this adventure:

  1. Your clothes did not dry in time; not by a long shot. 
  2. You had to mop up all the water in the gym and make it look like you were never there. 
  3. You had to board the train and go into a convenience store with your crazy, semi dried hair, garnering more attention than you were comfortable with. 



You were willing to look past all this for a number of reasons:

  1. Sitting outside in the simmering heat with slushees in hand was _exactly_ like the American teen comedies,
  2. Osamu had the foresight to bring extra clothes, and,
  3. When he walked you home in golden hour light and cooling temperature, he slung his Inarizaki Volleyball jacket over your shoulders. Did it smell slightly of sweat? Yes. But it was warm and it drowned you and you felt surrounded by safety when he zipped it over your chin. 



The two of you stood outside your door, unwilling to part. He still had a lazy smile glued to his face, one that could definitely rival his brothers in terms of attractiveness. 

“Will I see you tomorrow?”

“You’ll want your jacket back.”

“I’ll steal Atsumu’s.” 

You feel bad letting him walk all the way home without one, but he doesn’t seem to mind. You’re still wearing his ill fitting shorts and shirt. You never realized how much bigger he was than you. It felt reassuring, somehow, to still be sizes smaller than a trim athlete like him. 

“You sure you’ll make it home okay?” You ask again. 

“Aw, worrying about me already, are we?” 

You scoff, finally turning the key to open your door. Osamu stays on the step outside your house, watching you as if he lacks object permanence. The sun behind him makes him glow ethereally, and none of this has any business being so heart-clenchingly romantic because it's your  _ friend _ , who is now something more. 

“I had fun today,” you finally say, hands behind your back self consciously. “That was really nice.”

“Yeah, I had fun too.”

The silence is tense with things left unsaid, but you’ll spare your heart the embarrassment. “I’ll see you later, Osamu.”

He flashes you a smile and a small wave, but he doesn’t move. “Bye, (name.)”

You tear away from the moment first, walking in and closing the door with finality. You slump against it, and then shout “Is anyone home?”

When nothing but silence greets you, you scream, jumping up and down with all the pent up excitement you’d been holding. You hugged Osamu’s jacket closer, relishing in what could possibly be the best moment of your entire life. 

Osamu, having heard your scream on the other side of the door, couldn’t agree more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm cheezritsu on tumblr if you wanna talk haikyuu, or just in general!


	3. Love Drought

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first hurdle in your relationship hits you hard, because you’re the only one jumping it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, another chapter based on a song. This one is Beyonce's Love Drought (I actually used a lyric from the song in this, see if you spot it)

Despite your (involuntary) aversion to living in the present reality, when you accepted Osamu’s feelings you forgot that there was more to... _whatever_ this was just just sharing feelings. 

He was a known man, being one half of the Miya Twins (trademarked) and being on the starting line up for the most highly decorated sports team in Hyogo. The high of his confession rode itself out during the weekend, and Monday morning greets you with a startling dose of reality. 

It’s still breezy in the morning, so you don’t think twice about grabbing the jacket Osamu has yet to collect. You didn’t see him in person for the rest of the break because, as it turns out, he was a _liar_ and skipped practice to confess to you. (You were flattered and horrified; perhaps Kita didn’t really hate you before, but he might now.)

Regardless, you clutched it tightly in your hands while you walked around the corner, butterflies moshing in your stomach. The boys were standing on the sidewalk, like usual, but it felt different this time. Maybe because you could only focus on Osamu, whose face brightened when he looked up from his phone. 

“Hi.” 

“Hi.”

Atsumu scrunched his brows while looking between your doting gazes. 

“What the fuck is going on here?” He sneers, zeroing in on the maroon garment in your arms. “Is that my jacket?”

You sigh, breaking your gaze from Osamu’s. He’s still blatantly staring at you, you can feel it on the side of your face. “Why would I have your jacket?”

“Because Osamu said—“ he tapers off, glancing between the offending jacket, you and Osamu. “Wait.”

“Let’s go,” Osamu turns to leave and gently brushes his hands on your shoulders. Shocks go down your arm, but it feels pleasant. 

“Osamu, wait a fucking second.”

“Catch up, asshat.”

You snort at the unforgiving nickname and you hear Atsumu racing behind you. He comes up on your other side and squints like he’s reading fine print. “Are you guys _together_ now?”

The utter disbelief that spews from his mouth makes you pause. You weren’t really sure if it was his attention that bothered you; he was a dramatic little shit, sure, but what was really making your brows crease was that Osamu’s own _twin_ hadn’t found out in the past three days that you were now an item. 

Osamu was the type to keep to himself. It was like pulling teeth to get a serious answer from him, and even more so to know what was going on in that pretty head of his. But you were certain that the triumph of getting a steady—partner? Girlfriend?— _whatever_ would be a cause for bragging, _especially_ between those competitive assholes. 

And yet, here you were, caught between Atsumu’s dropped jaw and Osamu’s hand pushing at the small of your back.

The touch, although feather light, was enough to make your skin prickle with sensitivity. You weren’t sure if the removal of his hand was him noticing, or just his reaction to Atsumu’s usual smug smile morphing into something toothy and wolfish as he caught the gesture. 

“So _that’s_ why you skipped practice. I’m impressed, little brother.”

“For the last goddamn time, you are not older than me.”

“The birth chart says otherwise,” Atsumu shrugs it off easily and looks down at you. “So you said yes?”

“That dumbass question doesn’t deserve a response.”

Atsumu crosses his arms in distaste, but he still has that superior look on his face. “That’s no way to talk to a brother-in-law.” 

You miss a step and Osamu grasps your wrist with a quickness you didn’t know he possessed. You look down at his hand, his thumb easily reaching his second knuckle and _god_ were his hands always that much bigger than yours?

He lets go of you like you burned him, scratching the back of his head. Absolutely none of this goes by Atsumu, who barks out the ugliest laugh you’ve ever heard. “Christ, you two are awkward!”

“You’re the one who has to look at us, third wheel.” Your comment snaps him back to reality and he groans, rolling his eyes. Beside you Osamu chuckles, but you think he’s covering it up as a cough. The tension hasn’t completely left yet, but his hand is precariously close to yours throughout the walk to school. You can’t be sure if it’s an invitation to hold it or not, so you go back to holding his jacket with two hands. 

If you’d been anywhere else but your own head, you would have noticed the way Osamu’s face fell.

The rest of the walk proceeds as usual. There’s no practice on Monday mornings, so the three of you head to the second year hall together. It’s not the first time it’s happened this year, but people still afford glances at you. This time they’re less subtle, because Atsumu discarded you both to speak with Ginjima, while Osamu is still stuck to your side. 

You’re not talking to each other. It’s stiff and tense, and you feel like you’re squeezing through the hallways with him. Every voice sounds like it carries your name and every laugh feels directed towards you, and you realize that dating someone so known would have its drawbacks. 

“Any reason you passed your classroom?”

His voice, even and smooth, yanks you back to the present. You glance up to see that you’re approaching class 2-6, which you couldn’t even think about being in, let alone cross it’s threshold. 

You jump back like you’ve been shocked and Osamu puts that hand back on the top of your shoulders. Having him touch you has been growing on you, even though it’s hardly been a couple days since you’ve, well. Just confessed. 

“Are you okay?”

“No,” you blurt, and you want to smack yourself. Since when are you incapable of hiding your feelings? You cover it up with a quick, “No, I’m fine.” 

His expression is as aloof as always, but you can tell he’s suspicious of you. He lets go of your shoulder and you miss the weight already. 

“Makes less trouble for me to walk you to class.”

“Is that what you were doing?” 

“What else would I be doing?”

The bell interrupts your conversation (as if this jumbled mess of talking could be called that) and Osamu sighs. Something about the sound makes your shoulders deflate. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologize. When he gives you a questioning look, you say “I feel like I did something wrong.”

He steers you back down the hall. You’re going against the flow of students, and they are _definitely_ watching you two. But you’re not even looking as you wait for him to start speaking; somehow you know it’s coming. 

“You’re kinda scatterbrained, but it’s fine. ‘S cute.” 

Your heart lurches and you want to hide your face. Osamu averts his gaze, but he bites his lip to keep from smiling. 

“You can’t just say that,” you whine.

“Why not?”

“Because,” you fail to come up with a valid argument, but Osamu likes seeing you flounder. You shove him away lightly as you stop just outside your classroom. The teacher hasn’t come in yet, and everyone’s still preoccupied with talking to one another. 

You unfurl the jacket in your arms and hold it out to Osamu. “Here.”

“Keep it.”

How many times is this boy going to fluster you in one day? You shouldn’t be surprised, considering the usual antics he and his brother pull, but this is unprecedented. 

“Are you sure?”

“Do you not want it?”

His expression is as stone cold as ever. It betrays nothing, not even when you hold the jacket even closer to him. 

“I’m not going to wear it,” you shrug. “It’s too hot. Besides, Atsumu is going to really hurt you if you don’t give it back.”

“To hell with ‘im,” he says, and you give him a small smile. His hands wrap around the fabric, clutching it in a tight ball with a strange type of reverence. His eyes fixate on it for a moment before they come to your face. 

“Will I see you later?”

“Of course.”

“Okay.”

“Alright.”

There’s an awkward few seconds where neither of you move. You’re hyper aware of his gaze, watching his eyes scan you like he doesn’t want to forget a single detail. You give an amused puff of air, and his lips quirk up ever so slightly.

“You know that in order to see me later you have to actually go, right?” You shove him, putting that starting distance between you two. He walks backwards smugly—is that a thing people can actually do in real life? Of course the Miya’s can. He give you one last wave, and then he disappears. 

You look down at your hands. Already, you miss the smooth and cool maroon fabric, and the tiny detail of his name stitched on the front. Your hands would be too idle now, and despite your earlier statement, the open windows of the classroom brought a chill up your spine. 

But still, you reasoned, wearing it was too much. You would have the glare of your entire class narrowed in on you, and you’d simply be adding fuel to a fire you wanted snuffed. 

You wondered, though, as you zoned out of class, if Osamu had the same thought when he didn’t put up a fight.

*****

For all intents as purposes, everything was the same. 

You walked to school with the twins in the mornings. Atsumu would crack some lame couple jokes, but for the most part those interactions were typical. Osamu would ask you about assignments, or your family, or—weirdly enough—about yourself in a way that was different, but you assumed that was what it meant to be “dating.”

The word didn’t feel like it defined you. Hanoka assured you it definitely was. 

“If you confess to someone, that’s waaaay after talking to them.” The way she nods her head makes you believe her, but Kosaku doesn’t seem swayed. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about Okubo.”

“Oh, so you’re the romance expert now?”

You raise a brow at that. “Mayumi’s the romance expert. I’d ask her but she’s sorting out club stuff.”

Hanoka fake grimaces, clutching at her heart so tight it wrinkles her shirt a little. “(Name) you absolutely wound me.” She leans back on Kosaku’s desk dramatically. 

“Then die.” Kosaku pushes her, making her lose her balance. Hanoka wobbles on one foot, reaching wildly for the desk in front of her. It scrapes irritatingly loud against the floor, and Kosaku tries his hardest to hold in his laughter. 

“Holy shit,” he says through his hand. “My bad.”

“Kosaku, you shithead!”

Perhaps Kosaku really is dense for not seeing through your line of questioning. Surely by now he knew that you really _were_ dating Osamu. Between Atsumu’s big mouth and his own nonchalance, it should have slipped out in some way. 

But he never asked. Maybe he didn’t care, didn’t deem it his business, but it felt odd. You may have been overthinking things. 

The thought still nagged you while you were on your way to the gym. It had been a couple days, and everything was the way it always had been. Morning practices kept you from being seen together, and your lunches were still spent in the classroom. Osamu had never asked you to join him, never even brought it up. You knew he ate in the field behind the gym most days, because Atsumu was a freak who liked practicing at all hours of the day, and Osamu was not above tagging along just to ridicule him. 

It felt strange to just _crash_ , even if that was what Osamu would do. But he knew you weren’t him; he had to know you couldn't do that, right?

 _“No_ , _”_ you think, sitting on the stairs of the gym with a vacant look on your face. _“He doesn’t.”_

It was unfair to blame him. He wasn’t doing this all on purpose. He would never….

You were sitting underneath the beating sun, sweat gathering behind your knees. You would have to wait even longer; practice still wasn’t over for another forty-five minutes. If only you weren’t deathly afraid of Kita-san. 

The sound of the sliding door opening only intensified that fear, sending a jolt through your body. “(Name)? What are you doing waiting out here?”

Aran hops down the steps until your two are at eye level. His skin is glistening with sweat, and he takes up the edge of his jersey to wipe his face off. You wrinkle your nose at his exposed stomach.

“Ew,” you deadpan, and he rolls his eyes. 

“You’re a mess.”

“You’re one to talk.” He was panting heavily, holding an uncapped water bottle. You stand up, opening your hand out to him.

Aran blinks, but hands it over anyways. You reached over the stairs to the outside spigot, filling it in no time. He gave you a fond smile.

“God, I wish your charitable nature would have rubbed off on the twins by now.” He takes a huge gulp of water, before sighing in satisfaction. “You always were my favorite kouhai.”

“I’m honored, but I’m always this kind.”

“Hm, it seems their ego rubbed off on you, though.”

You scoff at the idea. “As if. How’s Osamu doing in there?”

Aran quirks his brow, but covers it up with another long sip. “He’s fine. Jumping higher than usual today. Must be in a good mood.” And then the skeptical look returns. “Why do you ask?”

“Just wondering.”

“You know you can always like, come inside.” He jabs his finger toward the doors, which are closed shut like gates. “Watch us play, cool off.”

“I’m sure a good girlfriend would, but I’m not that,” you joke, missing the way Aran’s eyes nearly pop out of his skull.

What you don’t miss is the heavy cough that doubles him over, spit and water drooling out of his mouth. You move to help him, but he holds out his arm. 

“I’m fine it’s just,” he stops to cough again, but his lips are pulled back in a half smile. “You’re dating Osamu?”

Your heart beat is probably audible, if it isn’t visibly tearing through your shirt. It’s a more earnest dramatism than Atsumu’s initial reaction, but comparable. And it leaves you with the same questions as earlier. Aran is your _friend_ , someone who went as far back with you as Osamu himself. Not telling just anyone was fine, you respected him wanting privacy. But not telling your brother, or the team, or even your friend since _grade school?_

It had been a week and a half since that day at the pool, but it felt like an alternate universe far, far away. Maybe you’d daydreamt it all along, and you’d spent hours dissociating on your couch to the white noise of daytime television. It would certainly make more sense than this. It would hurt less, too. 

Aran is still waiting for the answer to his question. You mirror his confusion. “I’m not really sure.”

He doesn’t get to ask what you mean. Some kid you’ve never seen before pokes his head outside the gym, disregarding you entirely. “Aran-senpai, the team is waiting.”

The look Aran gives you assures that he doesn’t want to leave you hanging, but you brush off your skirt with finality. “If the twins ask, I already went home.”

“By yourself?”

“It’s broad daylight, I’ll be fine.” 

He wants to stop you, but you’re already walking away with your head on the ground and your feet kicking up dirt, as if you’ll find answers in the scattered pebbles. You are no psychic, but your future is looking a little troubled. 

*****

You do everything the same the next two days. Osamu’s gaze has been lingering on you because you’ve been avoiding his calls and giving quick excuses over text. But if it matters to him—and frankly, you’re not sure it does—he doesn’t bring it up.

“I just don’t know what to do!” Hanoka is surprised at how disparate you sound, but you’ve seen this coming. You’ve been mulling this over for nearly two weeks, and you’ve tried not to get emotional. But out here, in the field behind the tennis court shrouded with tall hedges and gingko trees, you felt safe enough to voice your frustrations to your best friends. Frustrations that, when spoken aloud, made your chest hurt. 

“He doesn’t tell anyone, he doesn’t say anything—“

“(Name)-chan, Mayumi takes your hands in hers, and your palms feel tingly. “Calm down.”

“Yumi, I can’t stop thinking about this. Why is he doing this?”

“You have to quit it. It’s tearing you up inside.”

 _Tearing,_ present tense, made it seem like you hadn’t been already torn to shreds over it. You were forever in the process of putting yourself together only to annihilate the last bits of hope when something new popped up. This wouldn’t be the last straw. Nothing would be. You would be stuck in this loop for a long, long time; you knew this by now. 

“(Name) you have to say something.”

There’s a lump in your throat as you try to swallow back hysterics. “I can’t. It’s only been two weeks. I have to give him time, I can’t be clingy.”

“Who even is this guy? You won’t even tell us!”

“Hanoka, don’t yell at her!”

“I’m not!” You could laugh at Hanoka’s petulance, but she’s started crying. Her eyes glisten when she huffs. “I’m not yelling,” she says, slightly calmer. 

“I can’t tell you. Not right now. Not until—“

Your phone buzzes in your back pocket. Mayumi lets go of your hands, and you step back so she can’t read Osamu’s contact name. It’s not something particularly clever or elaborate, and you’re sure even Mayumi could piece together that it was the grey haired Miya twin. 

**_Cute Onigiri Boy_ **

_What are you doing after club?_

You started at the message like you couldn’t read it. Hanoka and Mayumi were very still, waiting for your next move. You turned your back to them, typing: 

_Waiting for you, like always_

He’s immediate with his response. Was he not at practice?

**_Cute Onigiri Boy_ **

_Got outta practice early. Wanna head somewhere and eat?_

_“What?”_ You thought, but when Hanoka echoes it you realize you spoke aloud. You looked at her over your shoulder, and she was squinting at you suspiciously, like it could make her eyesight good enough to read your texts. 

**_Cute Onigiri Boy_ **

_You can go home and change first, though._

**_You_ **

_So we’re meeting up somewhere?_

**_Cute Onigiri Boy_ **

_Train station, 6:30._

**_You_ **

_It’s a date_

You bite your lip at the presumptuous joke you made, wishing you were excited. Instead you turn to your two friends, clutching your phone to your chest like a lifeline. 

To their expectant gazes, all you say is “He’s taking me out.”

“WHO THE FUCK _IS_ HE?”

*****

The real question was _Where_ the fuck is he?

6:30 didn’t give you much time. You still had to make it home, then decide what to wear, and then haul ass to the train station in sweltering heat. The evening rush was just beginning, and the crowd of salarymen and business women made it hard to find your beloved in the crowd. 

You fiddled with the spinning ring on your thumb. Residual butterflies fluttered in your stomach, both from your earlier talk with the girls and from the anticipation of your first date. There was also the fact that you weren’t _excited_ per se. Just anxious. 

The harsh buzz of your phone doesn’t help. It felt like a manifestation of your frustration vibrating down your spine. You whip it out, only to see a stupid message. 

**_Cute Onigiri Boy_ **

_I see you_

Craning your neck this way and that, you catch sight of him approaching you. He’s very casual in a shirt and jeans,but you’d be lying if you didn’t think any and everything looked good on him. 

It almost gave you your excitement back. Almost. 

Seeing him in front of you with eyes shimmering in the evening sun made you smile, despite the inner turmoil. Osamu was clearly blind to it, because he easily slings an arm around your shoulder. 

“I hope you don’t mind tight spaces,” he warned, and you looked at him strangely. 

“Depends on what you mean.”

“It’s a gyoza place Suna told me about,” he replies while absentmindedly rubbing his thumb on your shoulder. You’ve gotten used to subtle touches from him, whether it be arms brushing or your legs bumping on the train. This felt more deliberate though. “I don’t know, I remembered it when we were talking about food.”

“We’re always talking about food,” you remind him, and he cracks an unapologetic grin. 

“Anyways, I thought it’d be fun to try.”

He isn’t looking at you. His eyes are fixed on the tracks, as if staring will make the train appear faster. His thumb is still rubbing on your shoulder at an even pace though, so he’s aware you exist. 

“Sounds good,” you say, hoping he’ll give you something in return. Instead his half embrace feels slightly stiff, and your thoughts wash over you once again. 

Even when you’re sitting across from each other after ordering, you can’t think of anything to say that isn’t tangentially related to the conversation you had with the girls earlier. Osamu isn’t talking either, and you feel hopelessly awkward. Absentmindedly, you crack your knuckles—one finger at a time on both hands simultaneously. It rings through the restaurant like someone popping bubble wrap, and Osamu makes a noise somewhere between impressed and disgusted.

“Was that yer fuckin _hand?_ ” 

You grin nervously. Osamu had warned you the place would be tight, but you didn’t realize just how on top of one another you would be. Even over the sounds of everyone enjoying themselves, others could hear the sharp cracks. 

“Yeah, do yours not do that?”

“I don’t think they’re as loud. Sounds painful.”

It occurs to you that this is the first conversation on your first date and he’s telling you you have weird bones. Your earlier anxieties are not quelled in the slightest. 

He switches the topic easily. Osamu is not the reclusive jerk some people paint him to be. It’s sweet to see him converse so freely, even if he is doing most of the talking and you’re giving vacant head nods instead of truly listening. 

And he knows it, because part of that “reclusive” persona is just observation. “You okay?” he asks, and he means it. He’s scrutinizing you.

“Yeah,” you say, drinking tea to chase your obvious lie. “Everything’s cool.”

In the dim, red tinted lighting of this tiny place, Osamu’s eyes are clear and unerring. The only thing stopping you from completely coming clean to him are the plates of steaming hot gyozas that come between you. You jump back, unaware that you’d been leaning over the table the entire time. 

Osamu drops his gaze, staring at his steamed dumplings. Then he looks back at you. “Trade you for a fried one,” he says in his normal nonchalant voice, as if he hadn’t been trying to read your mind two seconds ago. 

“Who says I want a steamed one?”

“No one, but I thought I’d ask before I just stole it.” And then he does, picking it up straight off your plate. You can’t even stop him; he dunks the whole thing in sauce and eats it in one bite.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he whispers, sucking in air to cool his scorched tongue. “‘S _hot_.”

“No shit,” you laugh, plucking one of his gyoza in retaliation. He’s too busy eating through the pain to stop you.

“I can’t believe you ordered steamed,” you shake your head, but you have to admit there’s something equally wonderful about these. They’re a little harder to eat than the pan fried though, and it slips back onto your plate. Osamu, who has now regained his awareness, snatches it up.

“I let you have that,” you huff.

“Sure.”

He’s always so happy when he eats. There’s a different kind of smile on his face; you remember this much from when you and twins would eat lunch together in the cafeteria. During your second year of junior high when the taunts about your growing weight were especially harsh, you’d let Osamu eat half of your bento. He always complied, praising your father’s cooking. 

You stopped hanging around the twins during school hours when rumors turned your life into a living hell. Maybe you were naive to think that a simple confession was going to make things change. You didn’t know how _dating_ or whatever this was worked, but the last thing you wanted to do was overwhelm him. 

“Hey!” Osamu’s voice is a little louder than normal. The piercing gaze was back, but this time he was leaning over his food to look at you. 

You paused, understanding that _Osamu Miya_ was disregarding food to ask you something. It felt like you’d been pierced by Cupid’s arrow.

The lovestruck feeling didn’t last long. “You’ve been staring into space for a while. Are you sure you’re—”

“I’m fine,” you try to reassure him, but his face goes flat. 

“Tell me the truth.”

The familiarity of the words aren’t lost on you. The gyoza in your mouth tasted like tin, and you wanted more than anything to just keep eating and pretend like this wasn’t happening. 

But he waited, watching you like a hawk until you sighed, staring at your lap.

“Why haven’t you told anyone we’re dating?”

You could hear the sound of him leaning back into his chair with a heavy sigh. You squeezed your eyes shut.

You should have just _lied_ instead of picking fights in public. You should have waited, should have kept your mouth _shut_ , should have just acted like a normal goddamn person instead of being so anxious all the time. Tears sprung up in your eyes, and you took a shaky inhale.

And then Osamu stands and you look up, expecting to see him walk out on you. You’re a terribly difficult person, anyways, you wouldn’t blame him for—

But then he’s _back_ , carrying one of those foil carriers and a take out bag. You stare at it like the red repeating _thank you_ ’s are the best piece of art you’ve ever seen. 

He hands you the container. “C’mon, I don’t really think this is the place to talk.”

You suddenly remember that there’s people in your immediate space, and they could _definitely_ see your tear streaked face. You slide the gyozas in, lamenting how they would taste reheated. 

Osamu takes the bag, and escorts you out. Instead of taking you back the way you came, however, he lightly takes your hand and pulls you across the street. 

“Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise. I was gunna take us here on a second date, but I think you’d like it now.”

God you are _such_ a burden. But you let yourself be dragged through the streets. It’s well after sunset, and the last vestiges of light are clinging to the clouds on the horizon. The purple haze makes your—boyfriend? Partner?— _companion_ look unearthly gorgeous, even with a concentrated frown. 

“You never answered my question.” Your voice grounds him. He looks back at you with pursed lips, then sighs.

Osamu lets go of your hand. “I didn’t know how.”

You frown, unsure how to process that.. “It’s not that you didn’t tell Atsumu, it’s that you haven’t told anyone else either. No one gets to know. And for a while it felt kind of nice,” you admit, but then you hug your arms around your waist, feeling a little too vulnerable. “But now it feels like you don’t want to tell people because you’re ashamed to be with me.”

“No,” he says firmly, stopping his stride altogether. “Hey. Look at me.”

You do. You don’t know why you’ve never realized how scary he can be when he’s serious. And then the look softens as he takes a step closer to you. His hand is so hesitant and tender when he skims his fingertips under your jaw. It’s so light, you’re wondering if you’re imagining it. 

“It ain’t got nothin’ to do with that. At all.”

“Then why did you never tell Aran, or Suna? How come you never want to hang out with me during school? What did—” your breath hitches. “What did I do wrong?”

It absolutely breaks his heart to hear your trembling voice. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” The crease in his brow becomes deeper, and you swear you’ve aged this boy in a matter of minutes. “It’s my mistake.”

You look at him strangely, and he continues. “I thought ya wouldn’t want anything to change too quickly. Everyone seems to have forgotten, or at least turned a blind eye to the shit that happened last year, and I didn’t wanna make it worse.” His stare drops to the ground. “I just wanted you to be comfortable, but I guess I fucked up, because here you are, crying.”

He sounds so strained, his jaw tensing like he’s keeping something in. You take the hand that’s resting on your shoulder, lacing your fingers together. You’ve been wanting to do it for _ages_ , and you can’t help but be excited by how far his fingers curl down your hand. He’s gripping tighter than you expected, and you bring the back of his hand up for a light kiss. 

“It’s not your fault either,” you tell him, and he looks into your earnest expression. You’re backlit by street lamps and headlights, haloed in a warm glow. “I really appreciate how much you thought about me, seriously. It means a lot.” You smile softly, swinging your joined hands. “But I messed up, too. I should have told you how I felt. I was scared of being clingy.”

“You’re not clingy for wanting to hang out with me. I miss you.”

You laugh. “You miss me? I see you everyday.”

“It’s not the same.”

“We can work on it, okay?” 

“Yeah,” he squeezes your hand. You can’t tell if it’s the dim blue light of dusk or if there’s unshed tears, but it disappears in an instant. “We should keep walking, because now _I_ need cheering up.”

Osamu’s hand is still snug in yours when he starts leading you again. You’re side by side, and you use the diffused moment to press another kiss on his hand. It’s too dark to tell, but you think he’s blushing. 

“Did that cheer you up?”

“You’re a menace,” he replies, but copies the gesture. By the time you make it to your surprise—the boba tea shop _is_ a surprise—both of your hands are wet, but he refuses to let go. 

Maybe, you think jokingly as you run back to the train station with boba in your left hand and Osamu’s hand in your right; maybe you’ve opened an entirely new can of worms with this competitive jerk. He’s like his brother that way—he wants to prove himself no matter what. You hate the perceived attention of holding hands on public transit like lovebirds. He sees your tense posture and switches tactics, letting go of your hand in favor of leaning on you slightly. (You don’t know how he even managed to hold his tea and your leftovers in the same hand; the talent.)

Unlike his brother, though, he cared enough to make you as comfortable as possible. Baby steps, you thought happily, bumping arms with him. Baby steps.

*****

_This_ feels a lot bigger than a baby step. 

Hanoka and Mayumi follow Kosaku diligently as he leads you all to the unofficial meeting spot of the second year starting lineup. Sitting in the immaculately cut grass are the twins, Suna and Ginjima, all of whom look up as your shadows approach. 

“Holy shit,” Ginjima leans back on the palms of his hands, eyes wide and grin impressed. “You weren’t kiddin’ Kosaku, you really _do_ know girls.”

Atsumu stares slack jawed as Mayumi waves excitedly. “You know a cheerleader?” then his eyes cut to yours. “Both of you?”

“The cheerleader has a name,” Hanoka hisses, sitting down in the grass between Mayumi and Atsumu. “She’s—”

“The cheerleader can speak for herself!” she flicks Hanoka’s ear before flashing her brilliant smile. “I’m Mayumi, and the fussy one is Hanoka.”

You and Kosaku laugh together when she says it, and Osamu narrows his eyes ever so slightly. Suna catches it as well, because he nudges him with a knowing smirk. 

Not one to let Suna bully him, Osamu reaches for your hand and pulls you to sit next to him. You lose your balance a little and the bento in your hand nearly crashes to the ground. Osamu catches it easily, and you snatch it back from him. 

“It was your fault it fell anyways.”

“No thank you to your knight in shining armor? How rude.” he teases. When you open it to reveal the gyozas from your date, he grins even wider. 

“Wow, you shouldn’t have.” He reaches for one, but you yank it away. 

“Oh, I do not think so! You already stole one yesterday.”

Ginjima tilts his head. “I thought you got sick yesterday?”

You look at Osamu in disbelief. “Did you lie to your team _again?_ Do you want Kita-san to hate me?”

Hanoka and Mayumi share a look. “Wait,” Hanoka says, waving her hands in the air. “Pause, hold up. Did you go out with _him_ yesterday?” she points an accusatory finger at the grey haired twin. Meanwhile, Atsumu groans. 

“Kita’s gunna kick your ass when he finds out.”

“ _If_ he finds out.”

“He’s going to,” Suna said, falling back against the grass. “That is, unless you can buy our silence.”

“ _All_ of our silence,” Kosaku pipes up. Osamu sucks his teeth. 

“You’re all snitches.”

“Here,” you offer out your gyozas, realizing there's enough for each boy. “This is your bribe.”

Ginjima waves his hand. “Nah, I can’t take that from you.”

“Don’t snitch on him, he’s stupid,” you say behind your hand, though he can still hear. The second years laugh, and you feel something warm and fuzzy bubble in your chest.

“She’s too nice Osamu,” Suna says. “How’d she say yes to you?”

“That’s what the fuck _I’ve_ been saying.” Atsumu pouts. “That best friends-to-lovers shit shoulda been for me.”

“As if.” You and Osamu don’t blink when you say it in unison. Then you say, “Osamu’s the better looking twin anyways.”

“We HAVE IDENTICAL FUCKING FACES!” The group explodes into laughter, but Osamu rewards you with a kiss to the back of your hand for the compliment. You lean into his side a little, and you think this is more than enough. Baby steps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys like this update! There's going to be some tension in some of these from now on—I really wanted a series that was about a couple working through the tougher, harder aspects of a relationship, so there will be angst! But the next one is a little more fun!
> 
> I'm cheezristu on tumblr! come say hi : )


	4. Good Zone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you finally see just how dedicated the twin's fangirls are, you begin to doubt yourself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the chapter title is based on Good Zone by Diners (although the song itself doesn't fit; it be like that sometimes)

You’re a creature of habit;  _ disciplined _ isn’t quite the word, because it takes hard work to do literally anything with the serotonin-less brain in your skull, but you manage to do the hard things with a little practice. Waking up early, making sure to eat breakfast, doing your homework and keeping up with your hygiene are now  _ finally _ habits. 

And Osamu Miya is destroying every single one of them, just because he can. 

“‘Samu,” you say, rubbing your eyes. It makes a disgusting noise that makes you laugh deliriously. “You’re never going to wake up on time tomorrow.”

_ “It’s already tomorrow,” _ he notes, and he’s very, very quiet. You like when he whispers in the receiver, like he’s telling you a secret. Nights and early mornings spent with your phone on your pillow and soft snickers are worth the extra effort to cover your dark circles in the morning. 

“Kita-san and Aran-senpai are gunna give you an earful at practice,” you remind him. “Don’t you have a tournament coming up.”

_ “It’s just Interhigh.” _

“ _ Just _ Interhigh? Isn’t it a competition between all the schools in the prefecture?”

_ “Sure is,” _ he drawls.

“Then you should be asleep,” you try to sound as threatening as possible while not waking up your family. Needless to say, Osamu isn’t fazed in the slightest.

_ “We don’t even play in the first round of Interhigh,”  _ Osamu boasts, if someone can boast while yawning.  _ “We’re exempt.” _

You give a small hum in acknowledgment. Inarizaki was a good team well before the twins started there, but even so, you never knew they were  _ that  _ good. 

“So you’re not worried?”

_ “(Name), I’m not some rookie freshman with nationals jitters,”  _ he says, and you know he’s staring at the phone with his eyelids lower than usual to show annoyance. You know him that well. 

“Okay, hotshot,” you scoff. “So if I come watch one of your matches I won’t see you lose?”

There’s something hilarious about the little  _ “Huh?” _ He gives, followed by muffled noise of his phone tumbling to the ground. Osamu ignores your laughter and says  _ “are you serious?” _

It's a little too early in the morning to make promises, but the excited voice of your best friend/ pretty-significant other compelled you to say “Of course,” without a second thought. 

There’s more rustling as he shifts.  _ “Our matches start next week,”  _ he informs you, and you’ve figured out that he’s swiping on his phone to find the information.  _ “Are you sure you want to come?” _

“Do you want me there?”

A pause. It’s always like this when you ask Osamu what he wants; he’s quick to do what he thinks you want, and he’s eager to please if you ever voice your  _ own _ opinions (a rarity that’s becoming less so), but whenever the attention is on him, suddenly he cannot speak. 

When the pause stretches on, you ask “Osamu, do you want me to go? It’s a yes or no question.”

“ _ Yes _ ,” he finally says, like it hurts him to say so. He must know you aren’t convinced because he says  _ “I want you to come _ ,” with more conviction. 

“Good. Tell me when the first game is tomorrow,” and then you leave him gasping as you hang up. There are a lot of things Osamu has to make you work for, but sleeping isn’t one of them. You fall asleep easily, dreaming of volleyball courts and cheerleaders. 

*****

Reality hardly ever lives up to dreams, and this is no exception. 

“Like, half the school is going to be there,” Hanoka tells you, going through your closet. Mayumi, who you wholeheartedly believe is more qualified to help you with this, has cheer practice for  _ tomorrow's _ game. You‘ll be in the stands with a majority of Inarizaki, watching them play in the second round of the Interhigh Preliminaries. 

“You have to stand out.”

“How am I going to stand out if I’m wearing school colors?” You sort through the tops and dresses Hanoka has mercilessly dumped all over your bed. “Besides, it’s not like Osamu is going to be able to spot me in the bleachers. These gyms are huge.”

“All the more reason you  _ have _ to show out, (Name)!” Hanoka bounces. “Do you know how many girls try to get the team's attention?”

This isn’t exactly news to you. Practice matches were public affairs, and the crowd of girls that formed was so intense you’d have to elbow your way through them.

“The twins are fucking famous; you gotta show them why Osamu chose  _ you.” _

The thought makes your brows pinch. Why  _ did _ Osamu choose you? He never told you why he liked you when he confessed; he’s not really the gushy, romantic type, but he was honest with his feelings. 

“Ooh!”

Hanoka pulls out a dark red tank top, holding it up against a pair of black jeans you owned. “I never knew you had something like this!”

“It’s new.”

Your phone buzzes in your back pocket, taking you away from Hanoka’s praise. 

**_Cute Onigiri Boy_ **

_ Nvm don’t come to the game.  _

A shot of cold fear passes through your body, until you get a picture from him, and another text. 

**_Cute Onigiri Boy_ **

_ I hate this  _

The picture is of Osamu and Atsumu, standing next to each other with less than happy looks on their faces. Atsumu looks like he’s holding in a shit, and Osamu is simply unamused by the numbers on their uniform jerseys. 

You snort, typing back:  _ it’s funny I like it. _

**_Cute Onigiri Boy_ **

_ Am I a joke to you? _

Hanoka catches onto your laughter. “Excuse me missy,” she says, peering over at your phone screen. “What’s so funny?”

You indulge her. She laughs at it for a full thirty seconds, wiping her eyes with one of your shirts. “God I can’t wait to see it in person.” 

“Hanoka,” you sit back in your bed, still swimming in thoughts of volleyball groupies and Osamu’s feelings for you. Even if your mind couldn’t quite settle down, you still aimed a smile at your friend. “Thanks for doing this. I really appreciate it.”

“Don’t thank me until Osamu is putty in your hands.” She crashes into the bed next to you, stretching herself across your clothes. “Seriously though,” she says, voice a little more serious. “You’d look amazing in anything. Osamu will love you no matter what.”

You flop on your back. “Love is a strong word.”

“You can’t see how he looks at you,” she says, very matter of factly. “You’re always in that head of yours.”

The light flick to your forehead makes you laugh, even if you’re a little uneasy about her words. You’re not the kind of effortless beauty that walks around Inarizaki High—and there are plenty of girls like that. Hanoka is your friend, and while she’d never lie to you, she would never upset you either. 

You wondered if Osamu was the same way. 

“Are you going to come with me?”

“Of course!” she says, feigning offense “What are besties for? Besides, I gotta see if Kosaku was lying about not being a benchwarmer anymore.”

You can’t help but smile at that. “I hope you guys get together next,” you say lazily, relishing in the way Hanoka sputters and sits up. “It’d be cute to cheer on our volleyball player boyfriends, hm?”

“Speak for yourself!” She screeches. “I don’t like Kosaku!”

“Sure you don’t.”

“I don’t!” She hides her face into a shirt and you laugh. 

“You’re camouflaging!” She stares in horror at the red shirt in her hands before flinging it across the room.

“I take it back,” she says hotly. “We’re not besties. I’m not even going to sit next to you during the match. Have fun by yourself!” 

Catching Hanoka by the wrists as she stomps out, you give her the pleading eyes you know she can’t resist. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop teasing you about your massive crush on—“

“(Name),” she warns. 

You zip your lips, holding out your hands. Hanoka snorts, pushing you back onto the bed. “You’re so annoying.”

“You too, bestie.”

*****

If memory serves you correct, it’s been nearly two years since you’ve been to a volleyball match. Intermiddle was at a much smaller venue with more parents and less noise than  _ this.  _

Kobe Arena was cold when you stepped in, but the frenetic energy of the players and the audience made you buzz like there was lightning under your skin. Boys in sports jackets with intimidating faces stalked around with purpose. All of the brightly colored shirts were foreign to you, and you nearly got whiplash trying to read them all. 

“You oughtta get a look at the program instead of breaking yer neck trying to read these boys’ backs.” Hanoka snickers at your lost expression. “C’mon, we have to find Inarizaki’s block.”

Hanoka expertly dragged you, and you flailed gracelessly behind her. Her elbows pushed past a crowd of people, and you had to excuse the both of you. 

“Hanoka, you’re shoving people.”

“And? Do you want to know where they are or not?”

You shut your mouth, letting her read the bracket before dragging you yet again. “They’re in Block C, Gym 6.”

“That means absolutely nothing to me.”

She sighs heavily. “You really are useless.”

“Good thing you’re with me then.”

“Seconds ago I’m a heathen and now I’m an asset.” She clicks her tongue. “Make up your mind, woman.”

The sound of squeaking shoes in every gym makes your pulse spike. The crowds are a cacophony of school chants and cheers, and you remember what it was like to throw yourself against the rail at every spike, how the ball smacked into the ground with a thunderous boom, the sidelines going insane. 

There were over 150 teams in the prefecture. Three went to Tokyo to play in center stage; and for two years Inarizaki had been one of them. You can’t lament the fact that you didn’t see the twins last year because your eyes start welling with tears. 

They’ll do it again. You know it. 

“Look! There’s the cheer squad!”

Hanoka points to a group of girls in red, black and white uniforms. Out of the group, you can easily spot Mayumi as she jumps, stretching her arms wide. 

“Yumi!!” Hanoka yells, and you wince at the sheer volume. The entire cheer squad turns their heads, but Mayumi is unbothered. 

“Hi Hanoka! (Name)! You made it!”

The three of you meet halfway, exchanging hugs. “Your uniform is adorable.” You tell her. 

The tiny girl waves her pom pom. “Stop it. But look at you!” She gestures wildly to your outfit, beaming brightly. “You look great!”

“Osamu will pick you out of the crowd easily.”

“I don’t know,” you say, craning your neck. The gym looks packed with people, even though the last team is still filing out. “There’s a ton of people here.”

“Don’t think about any of them! Just keep your eyes on the team! They’re sure fire to win, ya know?”

“I do know. We’ll see you inside.”

“How can ya miss her?” Hanoka grins, tugging on one of her pigtails. “She’s the star.”

“Shut up,” she drawls, her cheeks tinged with pink. “Enjoy the match! Let’s do something after, yeah?”

She hops back towards her team with a rustle of her pom poms, and you and Hanoka prepare to get seats. Your assumptions were correct; the stands were crowded, with people leaning against the rails and standing around in any available space. The band was already on the bleachers, and a huge section was decked out in red, black and white. Inarizaki’s banner hung like a black cloud over the court. 

“Whoa,” you breathe, taking it all in. You two ascend the stairs, snagging mid-section seats. It only  _ now _ occurs to you that you’re surrounded by girls, who are all bouncing up and down and squealing in delight. They were  _ everywhere _ , many of them holding up little fans with Atsumu and Osamu’s names in cute kanji. 

You couldn’t tell how old they all were—some were obviously middle schoolers, maybe first years at best, but there was a good population that may have even been older than you. They had perfect hair and bright smiles, giggling to each other and hiding their faces behind the fans. They came in groups, waiting patiently for a glimpse of the infamous twins. 

Your hands curl on your jeans, tightening to fists. Something jumps under your skin, making you feel uncomfortable. These girls are so gorgeous, so dedicated to boys they hardly even knew. They probably went to every game, followed their progress, the whole nine yards. It took Osamu gritting his teeth and finally speaking up to get you here. 

Hanoka bumps your elbow. “Hey, remember what Mayumi said. Just keep your eyes on the team.”

You can barely see the team when they step onto the court, but there’s a collective hitch in everyone’s breath, like a sixth sense. Suddenly the gym erupts into cheers. A snowy head of hair leads the pack, the daunting Kita Shinsuke not even addressing the people in the stands.

Osamu and Atsumu flank him, waving like they’re the Emperor himself. Atsumu’s megawatt smirk is visible even from your vantage point, and the screams turn into high pitched swooning. Osamu is more reserved, making lazy movements with his outstretched arms. 

The rest of the team spills onto the court, and warm ups begin. You can see the spikers line up, and Atsumu tosses the ball with a spin. A couple words are exchanged between Atsumu and Aran before they start. Aran winds up, his hands flying behind him before he smacks the ball into the ground with a satisfying sound. 

Each spiker has their turn. Then, Osamu comes up in the line. Atsumu doesn’t set this time; instead he tosses the ball up, and they cross paths on the way to the net. 

“Whoa,”

“Huh?”

Osamu’s hands come up in a beautiful set, and Atsumu’s straight spike is unparalleled. The twins turn to the mystified crowd, who cheer in excitement. 

Hanoka blinks, dumbfounded. “How—What was  _ that?”  _

You scoff, but you can’t help the smile that graces your lips when the twins wave in tandem. “Show offs.”

Hanoka snaps a photo of the two. “I still can’t get over their jerseys. It’s so stupid.”

“You know, they probably did it on purpose.”

“You think the captain has a sense of humor?”

Looking down at the 7-11 jerseys the twins sport, you have to think he must. 

The match begins with a blow of the refs whistle, and you realize you haven’t even  _ looked _ at the other team. Konan Boys’ High School doesn’t look particularly fierce in their yellow and orange uniforms, but judging by how rigid their backs are when they line up, you think they might be worth something. 

Atsumu is the first to serve. The band starts playing, and everyone leans forward as he raises his hands. 

“Is he going to do what I think he’s doing?”

The moment his hand drops, the crowd is silent, and you roll your eyes like you’re having a seizure. You think briefly about ruining his perfect silence, but the ball has already soared to the other side of the court, catching Konan by surprise. 

Inarizaki takes the first point with a service ace, setting the tone for the entire match. It surprises you just how much you know the twin’s playing style, even more so how it’s been integrated in Inarizaki’s lineup. The spikers steadily rack up points while the blockers shut them out. Atsumu wields his hitters like weapons, tossing with perfect accuracy to each one. 

If Atsumu is the wielder, then Osamu is a double edged sword. Broad attacks, quicks, and most importantly, the straight smack down while in midair; when Osamu jumps for the ball you lose your breath, only to have it back once the red calls his point. 

There is no way he can hear you over the squeals of a million girls and the cheer squad chanting “Nice kill, Nice kill, Osamu!” but you scream anyways, your throat hurting. 

“Go Osamu!” 

You swear he looks in your direction, even if for just a moment. 

The match flies by. Konan puts a little pressure on them in the second match, earning a deuce, but Inarizaki gets aggressive, pulling out setter dumps and synchronised attacks that secure them the win. 

You’re about to start clapping for the final lineup when Hanoka tugs twice at your sleeve. She’s all packed up, nodding to the staircase. She mouths  _ let’s go _ , and you scoot passed the screaming girls, bounding down the bleachers. 

The two of you round back to the hallway, where it’s begun to thin out. Through the windows you can see that the sun is starting to turn golden. Several teams are exiting the building, meanwhile, a small spattering of people are making their way to the gym doors. 

“What are we doing back here?”

Hanoka points to the gym. “This is the players’ exit. In a second it’ll be flooded with fangirls, but I wanted you to get up close and personal with your boo.” She wiggles her brows suggestively. 

“How do you even know about this?”

“Mayumi may or may not have passed the information along to me.”

You’re starting to question Hanoka and Mayumi’s motives, but you start hearing shrieks. “Oh my god,” one girl says, rushing into the doors. “They’re coming out!” 

Like a hive mind, everyone who was once standing idly swarms the door. You’re too slow, suddenly stuck in the back and on your tip-toes trying to catch sight of the black and white uniforms. When the screaming starts you know they’ve just exited, and already the mobbing starts to happen. Kita, Aran, and the tall, stoic middle blocker you barely know make their way out of the chaos, then look on in disgust. 

“They sure are popular.”

“I regret letting them be on the starting lineup.”

“It wasn’t your decision, Omimi,” Kita reminds him, and the tall boy—Omimi must be his name—simply shrugs. 

“Shoulda said something.  _ It’ll be a disaster _ or  _ it’ll make their egos big.” _

“I think you mean bigger,” Kita supplies, and the other two crack smiles. You blink, understanding that the fierce captain had just made a joke. You filed the thought away for later. 

For now, you focused on the blonde and grey heads of hair trying to wade through the sea of fangirls. You heard Hanoka mumble something about arrogance as Atsumu gave them all little smiles and condescending thank you’s, but you could see the exhaustion in his shoulders. Unlike the spikers, he was never benched, never subbed out. 

Perhaps you’ll save him, but the crowd of people is extremely dense. Your footsteps falter as you try to get closer, but you’re not Hanoka. You can’t elbow people out of your way; hell, you could hardly speak up for yourself. Every girl bats their pretty eyelashes and giggles “you’re amazing!” in their cute high voices, and something curls around your heart terribly. Osamu could have his pick of any of these girls, all of whom are prettier, nicer, and eager to please him. 

Your hands fidget nervously as the thought chokes you, but you feel something heavy on you. You look up, catching Osamu’s grey-brown eyes piercing through the crowd like a lighthouse. The feeling in your stomach dissipates into butterflies and your feet move on your own accord. 

You have to hug him; the moment  _ begs  _ for it. You inch past girls who are dressed better than you, with straighter, whiter teeth and skinnier bodies and nicer skin, but you don’t care as Osamu gets closer. He starts walking toward you and the crowd gives him space; just enough so that when you tackle him with a hug, he doesn’t crush anyone’s feet as he stumbles back. 

The girls glower, mouths hanging in disbelief. For his part, Osamu is stiff, hands hovering awkwardly over you as your hands squeeze tighter around his back. You stare up into his wide, confused eyes with awe. 

“You were amazing,” you say, tears pricking in the corners of your eyes. A huge grin spreads on your face, one Osamu hasn’t since the day he confessed to you. “I’m so proud of you.”

Those were the words that killed him. The crowd has regrouped elsewhere, either mobbing Atsumu or just leaving entirely, but it doesn’t matter. Everything blurs around the edges and it’s just you and him, arms locked around one another. 

“Uh,” he stutters, and you reluctantly pull out of the hug. “Thanks.” He scratches the back of his neck, already missing the feeling of your body in his embrace. “I uh. Saw you. In the crowd.”

“You did?”

You catch the flutter of his flashes as he looks you up and down, then turns his head again. “You’re hard to miss.”

You didn’t think that was true, but you don’t dispute it. Atsumu lazily drew up to his brothers’ side, slapping Osamu’s back so hard you winced. “Well well! Aren’t you a good best friend, coming to see me play.” Osamu rolled his eyes while Atsumu leaned in and gave you a proud smirk.

“What’d ya think (name)? Was I good or what?”

Humouring him, you pull Atsumu into a one armed hug. Your head barely reached his chest, and you got some sweat on your face for your troubles, but it was worth it to shut Atsumu up. His mouth hung open as you said, “You did well too, ‘Tsumu. You always impress me.”

From behind the twins, the rest of the team finally appears. “Well hey, what about us?” Ginjima mocks a pout. “Where’s our hug?” 

Osamu pushes his brother off, only to bring you into his side. You yelped at the quick motion. “You barely did shit, Ginjima.”

The blonde raises a brow, clearly amused by his protectiveness. “Is that so? Hey (name), you saw who got three points of their shitty blockers in the second set, right?”

“Yeah, and I also saw who had to do an emergency set after your too-short receive.” 

The boys blink at your quick response, and Suna snickers. He high fives you. “Nice.”

“Alright everyone,” Kita interrupts. You stiffen next to Osamu as the captain rounds everyone up. “The bus isn’t going to pack itself, let’s get going.” The team begins dispersing, picking up their track bags and slipping their jackets on, while Osamu leads you to the side with his arm still slung around your shoulder. 

“You know,” he says, his voice quiet and secretive just for you. “We still have a couple hours before the bus is supposed to come get us.” 

You squint up at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What’d you think I meant?” His brows raise up in a suggestive manner, and you disentangle yourself from him. “No, come back, you’re dry.”

“I’m all dressed up for  _ your _ game and you use me as a sweat rag? You sure know how to treat a girl.”

Atsumu, walking behind you two like the third wheel he is, muses; “Sweat rag sounds like one of those degrading nicknames you’d call someone in bed. Sort of like—“

Osamu opens his mouth—to tell his brother off, no doubt—when a sharp squeal pierced the air. A blur of pom poms wraps around your neck, where Mayumi dangles like the world's heaviest necklace. 

“(Name) what did you think, huh? Wasn’t it awesome, did you love it? Oh, hi, Miyas!” Mayumi waves enthusiastically at the two boys, who give her curt hellos in reply. “Say, (name), you should bring your boyfriend with us! Hanoka wants food.”

“No,  _ you _ want food, you just don’t wanna seem gluttonous.” Hanoka crosses her arms, but she doesn’t seem too angry. Mayumi scoffs in her direction. 

“Whatever, it was your idea!”

“Then why did you bring it up?”

The two bicker back and forth in a manner that could only be described as flirting. You shrug to your boyfriend as a question, and he shrugs back in reply. 

“Sounds good to us.”

“And us,” Kosaku, Atsumu and the other second years flank you and your boyfriend, giving you a lazy grin when you glare at them. “What, you thought we’d just let you four get food alone? Fat chance.” 

“Why don’t we just invite the whole damn team while you’re at it.” You bite back.

It was the wrong thing to say to the wrong person. “Well,” Atsumu cheekily smiles. “If you insist.”

*****   
  


There is something oddly intimate about sitting at a round table with your best friends, your boyfriend, and his entire volleyball team. 

The Inarizaki volleyball was much more chaotic than you expected. The most well behaved of them all is their first year, Riseki, whose eyes dart around nervously to his teammates who are embroiled in a passionate debate about—

“Literally,  _ literally _ , wet refers to something having water  _ on it _ , it can’t refer to water itself!” It’s quite the passionate statement from your beloved Aran-senpai, but Suna continues to giggle behind the phone he’s recording the entire argument with. “Nothing you can say will change my mind.”

“Okay but if you touch water, it’s wet, ain’t it?” Ginjima isn’t even joking about this anymore; his face is scrunched in a manner that borders on painful. 

“No, you’re touching something that has water on it. The  _ something _ is wet.”

“That’s!—“ Ginjima bangs two fists bang on the table, rattling the dishes. “That’s the same shit!”

“Can y’all shut the fu-“

“Finish that sentence in this restaurant, at that volume, and you won’t be playing in tomorrow’s match.” Kita-san does not ask if anyone understands, he simply sips from his tea cup while a chorus of “yes Kita’s” erupts from the table. 

Circles don’t have corners, but somehow it feels like you and Osamu have nestled into one while everyone enters new conversations. Mayumi chirps excitedly with Aran while Hanoka, Akagi, and Ginjima discuss tomorrow’s line up. Everyone is comfortable, everything is easy, and Osamu swipes tuna off Atsumu’s plate when he isn’t looking. 

“Hey,” he says in between bites. When you look up you swear there’s a crown of light around his head, but it’s probably just a truck of the light. But his tiny smile isn’t. 

“I’m glad you came.”

Just four words and he’s got your heart melting like candle wax. Up close you catch a twinkle in his eye; it was the same look that compelled you to burst through the crowd and hug him. A look meant only for you.

It quelled the inexplicable jealousy that curled around your chest. Relaxing into the moment, you smile at back him. “I’m glad I did too. I got to see you in your tiny shorts, which, might I add, are only marginally shorter than the track teams.”

The tiny smile on his face goes crooked, and he shakes his head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“So were you.” The airy, soft quality of your voice does not go unnoticed by your boyfriend. The hand that’s not occupied with stealing his brothers’ food finds yours, resting just underneath the table cloth. Your laced together fingers felt so natural, you wondered how your hand never felt empty all these years.

You squeeze his hand. “I had fun. I’m going to watch you guys go to nationals, so you better win, got it?”

Osamu presses a kiss to your temple so quickly you barely perceive it. Over the chaos, neither does anyone else. Osamu seems satisfied with your dumbstruck look, smiling stupidly into his plate. 

“Anything for you, babe.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been approximately 85 years since I last updated and will probably be 85 more when I update next. I'm cheezeritsu on tumblr; I post some stuff on there pretty exclusively (and slightly more regularly)


	5. Float

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live! updates will continue to be irregular as I decide what the actual plot and/or conflict of this story will actually be. for now, have some protective boyfriend!osamu :)  
> The title is a reference to 'float' by the neighborhood, you can also listen to bashed out by this is the kit for the ~vibes~  
> Quick disclaimer: this chapter deals with insecurity, bullying, and I think more cursing than the other chapters so watch out!

Things had been going a little too well for a little too long. You didn’t consider yourself pessimistic, more so, you were _realistic_ ; everything in life had a push and pull. It was like Newton’s Third Law of Motion: for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. 

The reaction starts like this: you walk into class on the Monday after Inarizaki’s winning sweep at Interhigh prelims, wearing short sleeves and a dumb smile. The early mornings are still laced with dew, so hanging on the back of your chair is the maroon volleyball jacket your loving, _caring_ boyfriend gave you (after whining for fifteen minutes straight.). When you sit back against it, it covers the white embroidery of his name, but everyone around you knows who it belongs to. 

“Look at Osamu, givin’ you his jacket like a proper gentleman,” Kosaku quips, turning in his chair to catch sight of it. “Finally claiming you as his, I see.”

“Don’t say “claim” like she’s a piece of meat,” Hanoka slaps his back for good measure. He chokes as the impact; Hanoka never was good at pulling her punches. “Besides, if anything, he’s hers. Totally whipped, ya know?”

“Aww, I wish someone would give me their jacket if i was cold.” It’s already crowded with Hanoka and Kosaku staring at you, and Mayumi’s insistence to drape herself across your desk doesn’t help. Her head flops off the desk as she closes her eyes with a wistful sigh. 

“I bet it smells like his cologne, how romantic.”

“It mostly smells like sweat and Mikasa volleyballs.”

Kosaku scoffs. “Romantic indeed.” 

Though the banter is standard, there’s something off about the air in the classroom. It’s stagnant and tense, like the stiff humidity of a potential downpour. Eyes shift around your little group, trying to catch glances to see if it’s true. You feel them burning into the back of your head, but you say nothing. It’s not innocuous, per se, but nothing has happened yet. 

You’re hardly convinced it’ll stay that way. The day is holding its breath and you’re positive that when it finally lets go, it’ll be for the worse. 

But you don’t want to start drama or seek out trouble. The unfortunate truth is, just like rain, you’ll end up caught in it anyways.

*****

If the eyes peering at you during class is the calm before the storm, then the whispers are the rumbling, grey clouds, moving faster and faster as rain becomes an inevitable. 

Somehow they echo louder in your ears when you’re alone—the walk from your usual secluded lunch spot to the vending machine with the coffee drinks you like (and by extension, the ones the twins like) is several minutes both ways. The girls say they’ll go with you, but you insist on taking it alone. 

Perhaps it’s an experiment: you want to see what’ll happen if you’re alone. You thought it might just be odd looks, but no, it seems your name is on everyone’s lips.

“Do you see her at the game?”

“I heard she was there.”

“Oh she was there all right—the desperate little thing tackled Osamu.” 

_Desperate_ , you scoff. Your curl and uncurl your fingers to release the tension wrapping around your body. Desperation was mobbing exhausted boys as soon as they exited a gym, screaming their names and pulling at their jerseys. Hugging the boy who was at the very least your friend and at most was your _boyfriend_ , was not, you rationalized. _Better luck next rumor._

“Really, just tackling?”

“I heard it was more than a hug.”

“She was totally all over him!”

“Bimbo.”

These were not new words. You carry on about your business, listening to your coins get swallowed by the machine as you selected your black and sugary coffee drinks. The vending machines were always littered with girls who ate protein bars instead of bentos, and behind their hands you could hear the slew of words that accompanied your name. 

“Desperate—,”

“—Attention seeking,”

“—Fat,”

“Whore.”

It rolls off their tongue like thunder in the clouds. Saying you’re immune would be an overstatement; something bubbles deep in your gut, something you’d forgotten. Or, convinced yourself you’d forgotten. 

You keep walking, unperturbed by the name calling, but when you return to the second years, their eyes linger on your face more than usual. 

“Here,” you say, dropping the can into Osamu’s waiting grip. He keeps his head craned to your indifferent expression, the edges of your lips curled downward ever so slightly. 

Atsumu, who is as observant as he is annoying, spared his brother a glance before speaking to you. “What happened during your less than ten minute walk to the vending machine?”

“Nothing,” you brush off, folding yourself into Osamu’s side. “This school is just so damn _big.”_

As if they understand the double meaning, Hanoka and Mayumi narrow their eyes at you. You avoid their gazes, trying not to break your nail on the tab of your drink. You feel safe in the seclusion of tall hedges, your friends sitting around you as easy chit chat to divert your thoughts. You want to keep it that way.

The twins share yet another look, but you shoot it down immediately. “Quit it with the twin telepathy,” you joke, and Ginjima snickers behind his hand. “Seriously, it’s fine; nothing happened.”

They know you’re lying, and deep down you know it too, but normal conversation resumes, and you attempt to erase the words from your mind with every slow sip of your drink. It was better to save your energy in case-no, _when_ \--these little whispers became something bigger. 

*****

The sky holds its breath for another day--after the vending machine whispers, there was radio silence for the better part of the afternoon. There was budding optimism, like a peek of sun through the clouds, and you let your guard down. A rookie mistake. 

At first, it all seemed accidental. It wasn’t curated enough to be an offensive play (from what unified front, you aren’t exactly sure), and the Ina High cafeteria was brimming with students from all three grade levels. So it didn’t seem implausible that a set of small shoulders knocked quite harshly against your unsuspecting frame as you traversed the hallway right outside the cafeteria doors.

The shoulder check in and of itself wasn’t brutal, but the lack of an apology was strange. Kosaku, Mayumi, and Hanoka were too far away to catch what happened, but they were waiting at the edge of the stairs for you with furrowed brows as you rubbed your shoulder blades. 

“Yo, you good?” Kosaku’s eyes flit from your hand to the slight wince on your face. You roll both shoulders easily and give a curt nod. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just bumped into someone.”

Hanoka frowns, taking a pretty defensive position on the same side as your bruised shoulder. “You’re not normally klutzy like that.” 

“I don’t think it was my fault.”

When the two exchange a worried glance, you quickly amend the statement. “No, I didn’t mean it like that! I just meant—”

Your defense is cut off by yet another jab to your shoulders. This time you manage to catch a first year glare in your direction before she mutters, “sorry,” under her breath, continuing to bound up the stairs next to her companions. She isn’t familiar to you in the slightest, but her quick escape makes you think that perhaps it _was_ on purpose. The initial pain is fleeting, but as both your shoulders throb with the same dull ache, you think about it a little more clearly. 

Hanoka had a point: you don’t bump into people. In fact, you make very concentrated efforts to avoid the girls at school. You could never tell which were the rumor-spreading Miya fanatics, and it made everything all the more frightening. Hanoka and Mayumi were the exceptions to the rule, and the _only_ exceptions. 

Perhaps this was an oversight on your part; hanging out with five members of the Inarizaki volleyball team on a given basis were, quite frankly, the worst optics. But you weren’t thinking about that at the time; you just wanted friends. 

It happens once more. You’re seconds away from the arch that leads you to the backgrounds of the school when yet another girl passes a little too close to you. She’s not preoccupied, not talking to anyone--she’s staring straight ahead when her shoulder slams into yours, pushing you sideways into Hanoka. 

You get a good look at your aggressor this time: straight black hair cut in a flattering asymmetrical bob. Her frame is much smaller than yours, but it feels like she’s a fucking refigerstor the way she slammed into you. Hanoka breaks your fall before turning back to glare at the junior who harmed you. The girl was already gone. 

“What the hell was that?” she asks you, as if you have even the faintest idea. You shrug, which slightly hurts, but you deny any knowledge. If you were right, you didn’t want anyone else to get caught up in it. 

Kosaku leaned over, giving you a questioning look, but you ignored it. You also ignore how he narrows his eyes, as if thinking hard on something.

“Maybe we’re just taking up too much space in the halls,” you suggest, and then slide behind Hanoka. “I’ll just stay back here.”

Everyone’s face falls ever so slightly. Despite their frowns, it warms your heart to see how protective they are over you. Their concern is so prominent, the other second years furrow their brows in confusion when the four of you reach your secret lunch spot. 

“Why do all of your faces look like that?” Ginjima asks between bites. Rice esapes the corner of his mouth and falls into the grass beneath him. Your passive face wrinkles in disgust. 

“Because you’re gross, Gin, close your mouth.” The insult cuts some of the tension as small chuckles erupt from your friends. You sit down next to Osamu, whose eyes have not left you since you arrived. “It’s nothing, we just were talking about how we have midterms soon.”

Your lie seems to placate the questioning glances, because the boys groan in unison. “Fuck,” Atsumu’s head lolls of his shoulders dramatically. “Do not fuckin’ remind me.”

Osamu reached around you to throw a chopstick right at his brothers’ head. “You’re so foul mouthed, you piece of shit.”

“That literally could have hit me in the eye you son of a bitch!”

Kosaku rolls his eyes, muttering under his breath as the twins continue to fight: “They have the same mom…”

“You’re just on your best behavior because your girlfriend’s here! She ain’t even listening!”

You don’t reply right away. Truth be told, Atsumu is right--your mind is occupied with the words whispered about you and the girls who bumped into you in the hallway. Memories of first year picked at the edges of your brain--memories you had tried dearly to repress into the far corners of your mind. Something much more nerve wracking than anxiety creeped up your spine, weighing down on your already bruised shoulders. You wondered if it was going to be a repeat experience. 

A soft squeeze to your shoulders brought you back to the present, but unfortunately, they were still sensitive. You flinched, rolling your arm out of Osamu’s touch before remembering that you’d neglected to tell him about the incidents. 

“Did I..?” His voice is a hesitant whisper, questioning his own strength. The look of guilt and concern that pinches his brows makes your heart sink. You shake your head vigorously to dispel his worry. 

“No! I just messed up and slammed my shoulder into the wall when I was leaving class. A dumb accident, that’s all.” 

You should have known a lie like that wasn’t going to slip past your observant boyfriend, but he _seemed_ like he’d believed you. Perhaps it was the looks Mayumi, Hanoka and Kosaku had on their faces during the entire exchange, but his face regained a blank expression before he finally settled his hands behind him, leaving you alone. For now.

*****

It only takes two days after that for the storm to finally arrive. 

Rain like none before rips through Hyogo all morning. The grass is waterlogged and you and your friends take refuge at the cafeteria tables, where everyone can witness Osamu Miya present you with a bento box of the most ornately wrapped onigiri. The jealous eyes of your friends aren’t the only daggers being glared in your direction, but you shrug it off in the name of keeping the peace. 

And if there’s one thing the fangirls hate more than people being close to the Miya’s, it’s ignoring their warnings. For every action, an equal and opposite reaction. 

You’d felt their stalking presence ever since then, but now you are alone in Inarizaki’s library, with dark cherry stained bookshelves the girls can hide behind with ease. Every footstep beside your desk has the potential to be a confrontation, and you try your best to simply blast your studying playlist and keep your eyes on your textbooks, but the tension coils around your shoulders like a vice. 

You should start taking the boys up on their offer to watch them practice. Or maybe you should have actually joined a club this year. _Anything_ to avoid the moment you’d placed yourself in, with your stupid insistence on pissing them off.

_No_ , you think, tapping your pen on the corner of your page. _It wasn’t about them._ You were recuperating, spending time with people you’d grown to really like. You were just _existing_ , and now it was being wrenched out of your grip. You couldn’t have _anything_ , not as far as they considered.

The coil tightens into a compressed anger as you _know_ you’re being followed out of the library. Late June boasts the longest days of the year, and despite the rain the drizzles on, it’s still light out when you make your way to the volleyball gym. The shadows of your stalkers stretch towards you as you walk, and finally, _finally_ , the coil snaps. 

You stop abruptly. The shuffling behind you isn’t subtle, and you turn on your heel, coming face to face with you current tormentors. 

Well, they are current and former. You recognize the girl with the asymmetrical bob as one of your aggressors. The other one is unknown to you, but she stands with little confidence behind their ring leader: one Akane Kurosawa, whose familiar and enviable face triggers your fight or flight instinct. She’s as tiny as ever, with a bewildered face that schools itself into a scowl once you’ve finally locked eyes. 

“You’re such a persistent little brat,” she spits, and it’s almost amusing how much venom she holds towards you. “You just love to piss me off, don’t you?”

“Look who’s talking. Your life must be so goddamn miserable if you think I’m doing something just to inconvenience you.” Your insulting reply shocks the two little girls flanking her. They must be first years, if their small stature and innocent faces are anything to go by. Akane just scoffs at your response, combing through her long hair with the sharp talons she calls fingernails. 

“You know damn well what you’re doing you pathetic little attention seeker. I thought we made it very clear what happens when you meddle with the twins.”

Clearly this girl doesn’t hear the insanity of her own words. Your hands squeeze into fists so tight it hurts. “The twins aren’t yours to control, and neither am I.” 

Akane’s shoulders tenses for a moment, like she’s been caught off guard, but her responding laughter is discordant and eerie. “Oh? That’s not entirely true, now is it? You were pretty easy to manipulate last year.”

The reminder punches you in the gut. You’d spent weeks crying yourself to sleep, skipping meals, missing class which accumulated into slipping grades, and bearing the absolute _dread_ of waking up to go to school. Tears well in your eyes as you begin to think about it. Akane had controlled you easier than a puppet master, and you’d thought you’d finally cut the strings. But here you were, under her control yet again. 

However; Osamu’s soft touches to your shoulder burn more than their bruising jabs. Kosaku’s frown, Hanoka’s insistence, and Mayumi’s grin are constant reminders that push you through each and every day; the rays of sunshine peeking through the clouds. 

You square your shoulders back, looking Akane in the eye. “I’m a different person now.”

“Hmm. You’ve definitely gained confidence, I’ll give you that.” she concedes, circling around you with a scrutinizing stare. “Hell, you’ve even deluded yourself into thinking Osamu actually cares about you.”

“You actually think he likes you? _You?_ Ha!” Her piercing laugh rings through the courtyard. “What would a boy like him even see in someone like you? You’re just a fat, attention seeking whore who doesn’t know when to quit when she’s ahead.” She places a hand on your shoulder, mocking a pout as she delivers the final blow.

“He’s just humoring you, you poor little thing. And I hope he smashes your heart into a thousand tiny little pieces and tosses it away, because that’s where you belong—in the garbage.” 

Your breath hitches. It isn’t the most damaging insult this girl has ever said to you, but for some reason the idea of Osamu shattering your heart feels almost tangible, as if it has happened before, or could happen just as easily as she described. 

You open your mouth to say something, but all the words dry up in your throat. And then someone says them for you: “I think that’s quite enough.”

Akane freezes, detaching her hand from you with a mechanical slowness. Her face immediately sours, and when you turn to catch what’s made her so stiff, you find yourself frozen too. 

The Inarizaki boy’s VBC is startlingly intimidating with the sun at their backs. They all sport the same maroon and black color combination, arms crossed on their chest with matching scowls. their indomitable captain, Kita Shinsuke, raises his head to glare upon Akane and her cronies as if they are insects. 

The stare was frightening enough on its own, but nothing, and you mean _nothing,_ was more terrifying than watching the entire team part to let Osamu stomp down the stairs, his hands in fists as he walks with malice towards the girls. He looks as deadly and frightening as a samurai going into battle, and Akane lets go of you, scrambling back as Osamu’s form looms over hers.

His hair swirls with the damp wind that blows under the scaffolding, but he is as immovable as marble. That blank, impassive look morphs into a cold fury as his eyes narrowed into slits. “Do I know you?” He asks. 

Akane’s lower lips tremble as she stutters “Wh-huh?”

“Do. I. Know you?”

“N-no, we don’t really—”

“Then how do you know how I feel about Y/N, hm?” His head tilts, and the motion alone curdles your blood. Osamu is usually loud when he’s angry, screaming and flailing in retaliation to his brother. But this controlled and precise anger is far more like Atsumu, and also _far_ scarier on his face. 

“If we don’t know each other, then how could you possibly know my intention? I don’t, in fact, intend to break her heart, just like how I have never once intended to date the likes of any of you.” He takes a step closer, towering high above Akane’s now shaking form. “Now, if you gossiping, lying cunts don’t fucking leave my girlfriend _alone_ —”

“HEY!” 

Osamu is caught off guard by your side crashing into his. A shove to his six-foot-even frame hardly does any damage, but he stopped talking, looking down at you in bewilderment. You point your finger at him disapprovingly. “Uh uh. You don’t get to use that word.”

The confusion that quickly overtakes his face would have been hilarious under other circumstances. He scrambles out a few confused syllables. “I--what?” 

Heaving a sigh, you turn to Akane, whose knees were knocking uncontrollably. Her quivering form does not boost your ego in the slightest. “Listen, I hate your guts and you deserve to be told off, because quite frankly, you’re a bitch.” 

Osamu’s entire face scrunches. “How the fuck is that any better than what I said?”

“I’m not done!” you wave a hand in his face without turning away from Akane. “You were wrong, and you’re a bitch, but I’m not going to let a boy call you a,” your lips purse in distaste. “A _cunt_ to your face like that. No matter how rightly upset he is.” You cast a glance back at Osamu, who simply scoffs and looks away to avoid apologizing. You sigh once more, knowing you’ll have to be the bigger person. “So he’s sorry.” 

Akane, on the other hand, does not intend to be good. She looks between both of you before a sob leaves her lips, and then she turns, bolting instantly. The two girls that stood beside her are dumbly rooted to their spot for a good ten seconds, gaping at you and Osamu. He looks at them through the corner of his eye, and they squeak, chasing after their distraught leader. Their hasty retreat does not make you feel good in the slightest. In fact, you might throw up.

You take a deep breath, fixing an exasperated glare at your boyfriend. He clicked his tongue, asking, “So _I_ did something wrong?”

“Thank you.”

Your voice is tiny and broken, and Osamu immediately wraps you in a hug. He’s sticky and reeks of sweat, but his arms snake tight around your shoulder and squeeze once in reassurance, like he can squish the tension out of your body. You don’t know when he became so good at this, or when you became needy for it, but Osamu was a damn good hugger. 

“Kosaku told me some weird shit was happening with you.”

Your eyes narrow to the (gawking) members of the volleyball club, picking out Kosaku. As if he felt your burning gaze, he stiffened, then turned away slightly, scratching the back of his neck. 

“Traitor,” you muttered into your boyfriend’s shirt. 

“I’m glad he told me, otherwise you wouldn’t have.” 

The truth doesn’t make you feel particularly good. It settles in the pit of your stomach, and your hands grip at the fabric of his shirt a little tighter. “I didn’t want it to get worse.”

He pulls away from you, and you can see how hard he rolls his eyes. “It was going to get worse if you just continued to let it slide.” 

“What’re you, my therapist? The guidance counsellor?”

“Okay, let me never help you again.” That stoic, blank look is back, although it seems less passive now. You pull away from him, but he keeps your hands together and swings them in the gap between you two. “Are you okay?”

“I mean, not really,” you say honestly. Osamu glances back at the gym entrance, where everyone is watching you two like daytime television. Atsumu gives an annoying wave.

“HEY LOVEBIRDS,” he cups his hand and yells as if he’s 100 meters away and not 100 steps. “WE GOT PRACTICE WHENEVER YOU’RE DONE!”

“Then why don’t I see anyone in the goddamn gym!” Osamu yells back at equal volume, and you cover your mouth with your free hand to keep from laughing. Your giggles only increase when Kita-san levels a glare at both of them. 

“Both of you lower your voices. Atsumu, everyone, get back in the gym.” With a swift point of his finger, everyone jogs inside, with the blonde twin sticking his tongue out for good measure. Kita-san hangs back, giving Osamu a curt nod.

“Do whatever you have to do,” he says, somewhat vaguely. Then to you, his expressions actually _softens_ , with pinched brows and a sincere bow. “I apologize for intruding on your conversation, but it looked like you were in need of assistance.”

Heat creeps up the back of your neck and ears. You become increasingly aware of Osamu’s hand still in yours. “Oh!” you blurt, and it’s Osamu’s turn to hide his snort. “That’s, um. It’s okay, Kita-senpai. Thank you for doing so, I really appreciate it.”

“Of course.” He turns to head into the gym, but he gives one last look over his shoulder. “You can stop sitting outside the gym during practice, too,” he says knowingly, and you _swear_ that sincere look turns into a smirk. “No one will mind if you sit inside.”

“R-really?” 

“So long as you don’t distract our wing spiker, sure.” And that _definitely_ is a satisfied grin stretching across the right side of his face. Kita does his damage and finally closes the gym door, and you place your face in your hands.

“Why did he say that!” You cry, walking away from Osamu, who simply chuckles at your misfortune. “Does he always embarrass people?”

“He probably just knows you’re easy to rile up.”

“How could he possibly know that?”

“Hmm,” Osamu hums, walking up to you and removing your hands from your face. He presses the back of his hand to your cheek, then smiles deviously. “I’d say it was the stuttering, but you were probably sweatin’ while he talked to you. You embarrassed, or you hot n’ bothered cause the captain talked to you? Should I be jealous?”

“Stop!” you yell, uncaring that the boys could probably hear you inside. You swatted away your boyfriend’s hand, letting the flustered heat replace the tight anger and sadness that previously occupied your chest. 

“Let’s just go home.” you requested, and he casually slung his arm across your shoulders in agreement. 

“Sounds good to me.”

*****

The only way one would’ve known rain fell in Hyogo was the soft squish of the mud under their shoes, should they be so bold as to walk in the grass. Otherwise, in the still heat of early summer, the sidewalks and asphalt had dried completely. The full trees filtered the fading sunlight, dappling it across your two forms as you and Osamu walked toward the train station. You couldn’t feel bad for leaving Atsumu behind, for he wasn’t in a single thought in your mind. 

Osamu watches as you look to the ground with an absent smile. His hands are in his pockets, but your arms are linked at the elbows and it feels nice where your bare skin touches his. 

“You’ve been staring into space ever since we left school.” he pipes up, and you’re a little surprised he initiated the conversation. But when you look at him, it’s easy to tell that he’s been staring at you for quite some time. He says nothing else, because he’s not pushy, but you sigh. 

“I was just thinking, I guess.”

“Thinking about what?”

“That we should take a detour.”

He blinks in surprise, but he doesn’t protest. Osamu lets you lead the way, holding onto your hand as if he’s a kindergartner wading through a sea of adults. Not that he particularly minds your forwardness—he stares fondly at the back of your head, forgetting about your request entirely and quite content to let the streets pass him by with your hand in his. 

The scenery is actually new to him. You’ve diverged from your usual path by a couple of blocks, leading into an unfamiliar and slightly narrower street. On either side are small doors that seem to go into ordinary places like laundromats or convinces stores. Osamu cranes his neck to see wires criss crossing, covered with drying laundry, and small steel railed balconies. Every so often a person comes out, smoking a cigarette or taking down their clothes. It’s as picturesque as a Ghibli film, and Osamu hums. 

You lead him through it with the confidence of familiarity. “What is this place?” 

You shrug your shoulders. “Don’t know if it has a name. A friend of my cousin took me here once.”

“You’ve only been here once?”

“Yup,” you say, tapping the index finger of your free hand to your temple. “That’s that class 4, college prep memory.”

Osamu rolls his eyes, but playfully so. He likes when you’re cocky; it’s a rare acknowledgement of how smart he and everyone else knows you are. 

“Yeah babe, you’re the absolute smartest.”

Disregarding how the word “babe” scrambles your mind, you quip, “Einstein who?”

“Alright, no one said all that.”

You squeeze his hand in retaliation, but drop the matter for now. In front of you stands a white painted sliding door, the windows covered with short curtains. The place itself looks no bigger than a stall, sandwiched between a flower shop and a row of vending machines. 

“You sure this place is open?” He asks. Despite the obvious hesitance in his voice, you give him a simple wink before sliding back the door. 

A quick greeting leaves your lips as you enter. Osamu has let go of your hand by now, but he still shuffles behind you in single file. The place is tiny, packed up with two tables off to the side and a bar that’s hardly functional. No one else is inside, and he has to wonder why. 

And then, from behind a curtain comes a kid: far younger than Osamu expected, with a bandana on his head like the old chefs. He’s barely tall enough to be seen over the register, so he stands slightly adjacent to it. 

“Oh, it’s you,” he says with an air of fake nonchalance. The kid averts his eyes, only to catch Osamu standing behind you with hardly any distance. Hiseyes narrow. “Who’s he?” 

“He’s a friend,” you say, despite the fact that you’ve been calling him your boyfriend in your head. The kid didn’t need those details. “You got buns today?” 

“Why does this sound more like a drug deal than a business transaction?” Osamu whispers to you.

“Drug deals are business transactions,” you reply, and then to the boy, who answered your question with a curt nod, you say: “Can I get five? Three pork, two curry please.”

He levels his gaze between the two of you again, before wordlessly disappearing behind the curtain. You scrunch your brows in confusion, but Osamu smirks knowingly. He almost says something about it, but any semblance of a thought he had was destroyed the moment the boy returned with a plastic bag with your order. 

It was as if someone had made a curry scented candle was wafted it under his nose. His mouth watered instantly, distracting him from you paying for the whole order. You dragged him by the sleeve while waving goodbye to the boy, who simply started back with crossed arms. 

You had made your way back to the alleyway before handing Osamu one. “For my knight in shining armor,” you prefaced, and he gingerly took the bun from your grasp. 

“Is that what this is for?” There’s a small pout on his lips that shouldn’t exist while he’s holding food. He looks at you with a seriousness you don’t particularly like. 

You divert your attention to picking you your own meat bun. “I mean, I wanted to thank you somehow.”

“You shouldn’t thank me for it.”

“But I wanted to.”

Osamu let out a sigh from his nose, still not taking a bite. To see him holding back on food was strange and almost scary—you couldn’t think of a time he’d ever done that. 

“You shouldn’t be thanking me,” he mutters, and there’s a brooding expression that takes over his face as he looks down. You’ve seen it many times before—the look of contemplation and shame that follows a fight with his brother, or a scolding from his senpais. “All I did was make her cry.” 

You hummed in thought. “So you didn’t do it on purpose.”

“I usually don’t.” 

You raise an eyebrow in disbelief. “You lose your cool with Atsumu all the time.”

“That’s,” he sighs, dejected. His eyes flit towards the ground, and you note that he’s scowling. “Atsumu always knows exactly how to piss me off. It’s not something I like doing, you know.” 

You lean down to get him to look in your eyes, but he’s still averting his gaze. “We don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to.”

“It’s fine,” he says, although his grimace deepens. “Back there with Akane...I wanted her to get off your back. I know she was the same bitch—“ the word earns him some side eye, courtesy of you. “Same _girl_ who spread those fake rumours last year. I just got so _angry_.” 

His free hand balls into a fist so tight his knuckles begin to pale. It strikes you all at once that Osamu _knew_ about your pain and suffering. Perhaps not it’s full extent, but at the very least he had been aware that your excuses last year were just that. 

The realization makes goosebumps appear on your arm. “It’s. It’s okay, ‘Samu. It’s in the past now.”

“Still. Some knight in shining armor I was.” 

You’ve arrived at the corner that used to mark his departure; the twins lived in a community several blocks to the right of here, while your house was a short walk to the left. You stopped at the crosswalk, blending into the crowd of salarymen and school kids, all of whom had their own stories and worries. It made you think about last year, how everyone had been so busy with themselves that they hardly noticed your slow breakdown. 

Or so you’d thought. Your therapist had told you not to take their lack of action personally, because it probably wasn’t as easy for them to read the signs as you’d imagined. What was obvious to you may not have appeared so in retrospect. It seemed Osamu was beating himself up for being oblivious. 

“It’s not always easy to tell when someone needs help.” You say the words slightly mechanically, reflecting just how hard you’d worked to engrain the message. “And considering I’d been unhappy for so long, it probably just didn’t occur to you. I never blamed you, Osamu,” you tell him earnestly, watching as his grey eyes widen, glimmering slightly with tears. 

“I never blamed any of you, so please don’t take any responsibility for it. You’re here now, and that’s all we can control.” 

The silence that precedes is both tense and relieving. Osamu, with his emotion clogged throat, takes a bite of his meat bun to refrain from answering. His defeated look quickly transforms into surprise, his eyes looking down at the bun as if it were magic. 

“Holy shit,” he says, and then looks at you. His eyes gleam with excitement as he takes another bite. “How long have you been keeping this a secret?”

“A couple of months.”

“Am I the only person you’ve shown.”

“Who else would I take here?”

Walking side by side in the fiery glow of the days last light, Osamu feels pride and affection well in his chest. He switches his food into his left hand so he can linked your arms together again. 

“Thank you.”

From the delicate look on his face, you know he means for more than just the meat buns. You lean your head on his arm. _You’re welcome._

“Now you know the one thing to get me if I’m ever upset.”

“If I ever buy buns from this place they’re all for me.”

You punch his arm lightly. “You’re the worst.”

He literally shrugs it off. “You chose me.”

He got you there. Instead of replying with venom, you snuggle into his side, pressing your cheek to his bicep. His shoulder goes rigid, and you smile to yourself. 

“Yup. And I’d do it again.” 

* * *

**Bonus!:**

You slip into the classroom behind some of your classmates, quickly but quietly approaching Kosaku’s desk. The boy is scribbling something down quite intensely, unaware of you approaching. 

Suddenly, you slam your hands down on his desk, making him yip and jump out of his seat. “Holy-!” He screams, garnering more attention than you’d like. “Why did you do that?”

“Traitor,” you murmur, narrowing your eyes playfully. Kosaku holds his hands up. 

“Hey, I was just trying to help!”

You slide into your seat behind him. Yesterday’s (literal) downpour chilled the air, and over your shoulders is Osamu’s windbreaker. Kosaku matches with you, and he eyes the garment with something in his eyes you can’t decipher. 

“I didn’t want any of you to get involved.”

He tilts his head. “I don’t understand you.”

“Huh?”

Kosaku fully turns, sitting in his chair backwards. He leans his elbows on your desk. He’s close, much closer than he usually was. “I mean, you’ve got all these people who want to help you and you just never accept any of it. Hanoka was ready to deck Akane when I told her what happened.”

“So you’re a traitor and a gossip.”

“Name,” Kosaku’s tone is far more severe than usual. “We can—, no, we _want_ to help you.” 

His sincerity pierces your heart like an arrow. You understand now, why Osamu and Atsumu are so powerless against your genuine compliments; there’s a disarming kind of embarrassment that makes you look away, feeling heat on your cheeks and a tightening in your chest.

“Okay, point made,” you breathe out, peeking up at him for a second. His gaze is still square on you. “Now stop looking at me.”

You can’t really understand the initial look on his face. There’s a smile that holds an emotion you don’t recognize, but it quickly shifts into something more teasing and lopsided. “Oh, little miss Osamu’s girlfriend doesn’t want attention now?”

You hide behind the sleeves of your (Osamu’s) jacket. “Shut _up,_ Kosaku! _!”_

“That little detail didn’t slip by me yesterday.” He turns around in his chair, leaning back with his arms crossed over his chest. You can’t see his face when he says, “Congratulations.”

* * *

**Bonus 2:**

You mutter curses at the vending machine you count the coins the second years shoved unceremoniously into your hands. You’re about 50 yen short of getting all the drinks, with your own black milk tea being the last of the bunch. 

“Stupid cheap ass volleyball players,” you say, squatting to collect everything. “Making me skip out on _my_ drink. The hell did I even walk all the way out here for?” 

As you begin to stand up, the light _clink!_ of a coin entering the machine catches your attention. A hand with long pink fingernails presses the button of the drink you wanted, and after a half second, it clunks down into the collection bin. 

Looking up to thank your benefactor, you freeze upon catching sight of Akane grimacing down at you. 

You blink, unsure what to say. “Uhh—“

“You complain really fuckin loud.” 

You stand to your full height, clutching the drinks to your chest protectively. It’s strange how much bigger Akane seemed before yesterday; you’re now looking down your nose at her. She clearly doesn’t appreciate the gesture, because she scoffs, turning her perfectly manicured hand into a fist against the machine. 

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Don't be nosy then.”

She looks away, caught. Her hand slides off the machine as she begins to walk away. She flips her hair behind her shoulder, but as if compelled by something, she stops and turns. Her eyes are a little softer, face a little more vulnerable. 

“Thanks for calling off your attack dog yesterday.”

Shifting your drinks into one arm, you snarl. “First of all, don’t call him that. Second, you and I are _far_ from even with this.” You shake the bottle of black tea mockingly. “But thanks anyways.” 

She makes a noise of acknowledgment, and the corner of her lip twitches upward. Akane does a little skip before she walks away from you. You stare down at the bottle in your hands, thinking it feels a little lighter. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm cheezritsu on tumblr! theres a lot of tumblr exclusive content on there, plus i'm a little better at replying to comments there. thank you to everyone who has commented on Loving is Easy, or my other works, i appreciate it very much :,)


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